


Now We Know

by WeirdChick333



Category: Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Confusion, First Time, Gay, M/M, Sex, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 126,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdChick333/pseuds/WeirdChick333
Summary: The Last Shadow Puppets are in the midst of the EYCTE tour. Things turn complicated when, thanks to some snarky remarks from his Monkeys bandmates, Alex starts to see that his friendship with Miles has slowly turned into something much deeper and scarier. Plenty of sex, jealousy, confusion, humor, and problems in this one...Last part: Matt takes charge.
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 111
Kudos: 230





	1. Now We Know

**Note:** This is an idea that a lovely somebody over at Tumblr suggested. Love to you! It's a one-shot for now, but there's a chance I might write another piece for it at some point. 

It really was a place filled with memories, thought Alex, as he made his way to the stage. He’d taken a stroll through the halls of Alexandra Palace, reminiscing about the various times he’d been here, as a guest and as a performer. He’d come a long way since his first time walking the hallowed halls of this venue and a smile clung to his lips as he recalled how nervous he’d felt years ago and how comfortable he was at the moment, despite the looming performance which began in a few hours.

Miles, his current co-star, and, in his opinion, the more vibrant half of _The Last Shadow Puppets_ , was somewhere here as well, most likely playing air guitar or singing along to the radio. He was tempted to seek him out and find out for sure, but he’d already spent the whole morning with him and Alex didn’t want him to think he was clingy or some shit like that.

“Matt, check this out!”

Alex blinked at the sound of Nick’s voice. He’d known that Jamie would drop by, but the other two as well? That would make for a long night! If the _Arctic Monkeys_ had come out to watch, they’d want to party as well. Miles, naturally, would want to join them, and some other people had promised to watch the show as well. That meant Alex would have to party along. He wasn’t particularly opposed to partying, but those were some people who knew how to party hard and how to do it well, so, he’d definitely need to take a nap before the show! As he walked closer to the stage, he heard more chatter.

“Let’s do _Standing Next To Me_ ,” said Nick.

“Yes,” agreed Matt, excitedly.

At that, Alex chuckled. He took larger strides, dying to see his bandmates mess up the Puppet’s most famous song. It did him in how popular that one was, despite the fact that it had come out almost a decade ago and even then, they’d barely ever performed it live. They’d played it a few times, over the years, whenever there had been a moment to spare.

He was suspecting that most of their fans liked seeing them sing it on stage ‘cause he and Miles had slipped into some kind of game over the years. They’d sing the back half of it into one mic, standing impossibly close, teasing their fans with the chemistry he and Miles knew they had. Depending on their state of mind, they’d amp it up or tone it down. They rarely ever toned it down, though.

“…is standing next to me…”

Nick was an awful singer, found Alex, smirking as he finally caught sight of them. But his amusement lasted scarcely a second. As his eyes caught their mock performance, he quickly slipped behind the side of the curtain and watched in a mixture of shock and horror. There, on stage, were Nick and Matt, making kissing faces at each other, while crooning theatrically into the mic.

“Ooh Alex,” mocked Matt.

“Ooh Miles,” Nick moaned back.

Then both succumbed to laughter while Jamie stood in front of them, filming it with his phone. He, too, was laughing. “Extra points for effort,” he judged, “but, I don’t know, guys…it lacks groping!”

“Not gonna grope Nick,” Matt stated matter-of-factly. “He likes it too much!”

“Fuck off!”

More laughter.

What the hell? Alex was confounded. Was that really how they, how he and Miles came across when performing that song? He’d always believed their stage antics resonated as exactly that, as antics, as something to snicker about. Had they acted too well? Sure, there had been the occasional seconds in which he and Miles might have forgotten that it was all make-believe. After all, they did get along exceedingly well. They clicked perfectly. There was blind trust between them. No secrets. Years of affection that ran deeper than every relationship he’d ever had. There was real love between them.

It was only logical that there was some crackling in the air as well. It came with the territory of a friendship as fierce as theirs. So what if Alex thought nothing of it when leaning in a bit closer than necessary? Where was the harm? And what was so bad about momentarily losing sight of a few boundaries when their eyes met and the crowd’s cheering got to them and their lips darted just close enough to touch. Never more than that! But a bit of brushing lips didn’t do any damage.

Right?

Right!

Alex shook his head, annoyed by his own thoughts. He and Miles were fine with it. What was it to his band anyway! Who were they to make fun of them, huh? He took a step forward, ready to deliver some stern words when—

“Somebody sent me a clip from Rockwave,” Matt spoke, holding onto a drumstick now and twirling it. “Saw that one?” A chuckle. “They totally kissed on stage.”

“You’re shitting!” Jamie had a huge grin on his face.

“They did it at Coachella,” Nick reminded them. “Well, Al did.”

_Al_ had certainly not done that! Alex huffed inwardly. He’d…well, what had he done? He’d fucked around on stage. And Miles made it so damn easy to mess with him! Fucking fine! He had kissed him. Although, ‘kiss’ was a mighty big word for what little action his lips had actually gotten! It was a tiny little peck at most. And the same went for Rockwave!

Plus, Miles had kissed him, there, and not the other way around! And it was the song that had to be blamed for that! They’d done _Bad Habits_ and that one begged for those wicked moments. There was a certain kind of energy to it that made you crazy and wild and a little reckless. And there was this moment, in the dead center of the song, in which all the electricity that sparked while performing came to a halt and you had to keep it bottled up for up to a whole minute, depending on how long they could keep it in. Miles had pulled his mic up to him – he’d brought his own mic, ‘cause he knew that sharing one during that song was dangerous – but Alex had felt just naughty enough to ignore it. He’d instantly leaned over, he’d stretched to get close enough without being too close to get in the way of Miles and his guitar. But then Miles had moved his guitar out of the way. Alex had gravitated closer, as he always did whenever there was a vacuum between them…

He still remembered every last second of it. Miles had worn his leather jacket on stage. He’d looked so damn good that day! He’d been completely into the song, the audience had been intense, and Alex had only meant to get close. He’d had no intention of getting _that_ close! Neither had Miles, probably. Still, before he’d known it, their lips had touched.

Like Coachella. A peck, nothing more.

Innocent, really.

And, as everything these days, apparently, caught on camera!

Matt was speaking, now. “Think they actually…you know…like, ever?”

That was it! “Would you fucking stop?” Alex emerged from his hiding place and glared thunderously at Matt. “What’s it to you, huh? That’s none of your business!”

Matt raised his hands in surrender, unable to wipe that slight smirk from his face. “Sorry! Really, Al. Just…forget it, alright? We were joking around.”

“Can’t blame us, though!” Jamie was chuckling, unashamed. “You two are our friends. We’re curious!”

“Nosy,” corrected Alex, temper flaring. “Impertinent. Crossing lines!”

“Simmer down,” interfered Nick. “We’re sorry.”

“Wow, the whole gang, huh?” Miles made his way up the stage, a bottle of water in hand, wearing shorts and a shirt, his skin sweaty. “Great to see you, guys! Could have joined me. The steps outside are insane to work out on! Love this place!”

“You were working out?” Alex stared at him in disbelief. “We got a show in a few hours!”

“So?” Miles stuck out his tongue as he reached over, ruffling Alex’s hair. “Don’t worry. Got enough stamina for both!”

Alex swatted his hand away. “Bugger off!”

When Miles reacted startled at Alex’s harsh reaction, Jamie patted his back. “Tsk, all’s good, Miles. Alex is just a little worried you’ll be too tired for the after-show.”

As the Monkeys, sans Alex, collectively burst out in laughter, leaving Miles completely lost, Alex placed his hands on his hips and shook his head in condescension. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“What’s happening? Somebody fill me in!” Eyes on Alex, Miles carried a blank look. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing! My band turned into idiots, that’s all. I’m taking my nap now!”

The laughter got harder.

-

When the show began, Alex had calmed down considerably. He’d decided to forget that his band was in attendance. If they wanted to be immature and stupid, they could be. As long as they left him alone! Grabbing the mic, he began a rousing rendition of _The Smiths’ Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me_ , a song they rarely ever sang, least of all in the beginning. He liked to leave the big ones for later, until he’d found his footing and warmed up for the elaborate flair that he occasionally enjoyed putting into his deliveries.

But sometimes, things couldn’t be helped. Lost in the music, he went from side to side, trying to hit the notes and struggling to keep from drowning in them. Next to him, Miles, as always, the professional, had no such problems. Despite the complicated guitar parts, he still managed to move with grace, have a connection with the audience, and worse, sidle up to Alex and lean into their familiar chemistry for a kick or two.

Unable to resist, Alex let him. He did his part to match and to make it crackle even more. Until his eyes landed on the side of the stage, from where Matt and Nick were blowing air kisses at him while giggling like toddlers.

His mood took a dive into muddy waters.

“You okay?” asked Miles later, between songs, sounding concerned.

“Peachy,” groused Alex, going for his drink.

_Fuck._

He didn’t want to snap at him. And he had snapped. Miles, loyal friend that he was, tried even more to lighten Alex’s mood as the show proceeded. He made funny faces. He came close to whisper dirty jokes, unknowingly giving Nick and Matt even more ammunition to make fun of them. So, Alex avoided him, whirled away whenever he came closer.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Halfway through the show, Miles was fed up. Understandably.

Alex sighed. He wanted to explain, but how was he supposed to explain without time to do so, with no proper words to express himself and with an audience of thousands that watched sharply? “Bad day,” he said eventually. “It’s me, not you.”

“Clearly!” Miles agreed completely. “Bloody snap out it, then.” 

He’d love to! If only it were that easy. Fuck, all that nonsense from the band had completely messed with his head.

“I’m beginning to take offense,” snarled Miles when Alex pulled his arm away from him later on in the show.

“Fuck,” muttered Alex. “Miles, get back—” He lowered his voice, remembering he wasn’t alone in this concert hall.

Miles heard him, though, and he came back. Waited.

The second Alex reached out to touch his arm, his gaze landed on Nick and Matt. He promptly dropped it. Rolling his eyes, Miles walked away.

“Damnit!” cursed Alex angrily.

-

There was really no fucking end in sight, was there? Alex sat in the corner of the booth of the fancy club, taking longer than usual to get drunk. Even liquor, it seemed, was pissed off at him. Sipping continuously on his drink, he kept glancing at Miles, who was paying not the least bit of attention to him. Lost in a lively discussion with a handful of people, he was laughing and talking and acting as though _Alex Turner_ was a name he’d never even heard of in all of his life.

He couldn’t blame him, could he? His mood soured even further when an old friend of Miles’ joined their little chatting circle. More than that, the guy had the guts to just wrap his arm around Miles and squash himself against his side as if he was his. Alex ground his teeth as he watched. That had guy had no shame, did he? Had he never heard of a little something called personal space? Didn’t he know that Miles didn’t like it when people turned to touchy-feely with him? Miles was much like Alex. Actual contact was fine, as long as it was measured. People had to work their way up to be able to hug and touch and linger. Sure, they hugged strangers all the time. Came with the job, sort of. But those were different hugs. Real ones, actual ones – those they reserved for special occasions. Or each other.

“Jealous?” Jamie wore a grin too smug for Alex’s taste as he sat down next to him. “That guy talking to Miles? You look like you’re about to bite his head off.”

“You here to mock me or what?”

“To apologize. We were messing around. I know you and Miles are just friends and…”

Alex was barely paying attention to Jamie, who kept talking about some thing or other. The guy next to Miles was moving closer and closer, which was bordering on a bloody miracle, considering there was already next to no space at all between them. Why the hell wasn’t Miles putting an end to it, huh? “’scuse me,” he said and decided to help his friend out.

Not waiting for the group of people to make room for him, Alex determinedly wedged his way past a few people who greeted him fleetingly and whom he greeted, half-assed, in return. When he reached Miles, he slipped his arm between him and the other guy and swiftly nestled in between.

Miles promptly glared at him.

Alex shrugged innocently. “Feelin’ left out over there.”

“Ah,” drawled his friend, unimpressed.

Turning to the guy on his left, Alex presented his best I'm-a-fucking-rock-star smile. “Have we met before? You look strikingly unfamiliar.”

“Alex!” Miles pinched his back warningly, whispering a sharp caution into his ear. “Stop it!”

Once again facing Miles, Alex lowered his voice. “Just saying. Trying to help. You’re too nice. That guy was creeping up on you!”

Miles’ glare became a look of disbelief. “Are you insane? ‘Tis bloody crowded tonight. People are standing close!”

“Not that close,” bit Alex.

“This close, you mean?” asked Miles, eyes moving back and forth between them. “Besides, I thought you minded being close to me.”

“What? That’s—” He noticed that the rest of the group had stopped conversing and was paying rapt attention to them, now. Alex grabbed Miles’ arm. “With me, come on!” He dragged much harsher than he had to, since Miles was following willingly, but he needed a moment of privacy with him and he needed it now. Thank God he knew this club like the back of his hand and quickly maneuvered them into a quiet corner near the back exit.

“Seriously!” Miles grabbed his cigarettes and lit himself one. “What the fuck is going on?”

Filching the cigarette straight from his hand and bringing it to his lips, Alex shook his head. Why did he have to explain it to him? “You don’t like it when strangers get grabby with you!”

“Who was getting grabby?” Making a show out of taking out and lighting up a different cigarette, Miles’ attitude did little to quiet Alex’s agitation. Miles began to roll up his shirt’s sleeves. He always did that when he was mad at him, knew Alex. Fidgeting with his clothes. Like he was trying to distract himself from his anger. “We’re friends. It’s crowded. He was just standing next to me.”

“Too close!” Alex felt far from sorry, though. He had enough resentment piled up to keep him riled up for the rest of the night. “And what the hell did you mean by saying I mind being close to you?”

“On stage?” An incredulous look clung to Miles’ face. “Tonight? You moved away from me every chance you got!”

“Because…” Alex looked away, exhaling deeply. “’Cause I’m weird sometimes.”

“Bullshit.”

“Not—” Bloody hell, Miles knew him too well! Alex couldn’t weasel his way out of this. Dropping his gaze to floor, he cursed under his breath, then tossed his arms up. “They made fun of us! That’s why.”

“For somebody who loves to waffle on endlessly in interviews, you’re bloody sparse with the words tonight!”

“The band did,” snarled Alex, annoyed that he had to justify it to Miles in the first place. “They made kissy faces and I caught them wondering whether or you and I ever…you know what!”

“I swear I don’t!”

“Fuck, Miles. They think we fuck!”

Silence.

And then? Roaring laughter.

Alex shook his head. “Silly me for thinking you’d share my outrage.”

To his utter amazement, however, Miles was no longer foul-tempered. Cigarette between his fingers, he wrapped his arm around Alex’s shoulder and hauled him in. A sly smile danced on his lips and his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Let them think whatever! Who gives a shit!”

Was he serious? “You heard me, right?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Why don’t you mind?”

“Mind what? Come on, how often have we gossiped about others, assuming the craziest things?” Finishing the last of his cigarette, Miles slapped a hard kiss to Alex’s cheek, let go, opened the back door and tossed the butt away. “Did they say who tops?”

Alex hit his chest hard, then did the same.

Miles grunted. “Would you just laugh about it already?” He linked their hands, despite Alex’s attempts to pull his arm free. The more he tried the less Miles allowed it. “Suck it up, will you? I’m not letting go. Let’s get back.”

“To your friend?”

He ignored that. And he did let go of his hand as they reached the bar, which was something Alex didn’t know how to take. Was he doing it because he thought he was doing him a favor or because he wanted to let go? And why was Miles so quick to return to his spot next to the guy?

The guy, whose name Alex slowly began to recall, but steadfastly refused to use, handed Miles a bottle of beer. “Ordered one for you.”

Once Miles was done taking a swig, Alex brought his hand up to his and swiftly seized it for himself. “Thanks, man. I’m really thirsty.”

He heard the low grumble as it began in Miles’ throat and he continued hearing it up until the moment it was released to the greater public. “Fucking stop it,” scowled Miles, leaving little doubt of his disapproval.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” declared Alex, fully aware of it. His arm slid around Miles’ back and squeezed him hard. And he kept squeezing him hard, notwithstanding the fact that Miles didn’t address him a single time for the next half hour. He was being stubborn. But Alex could be stubborn, too.

After a while, the circle got smaller. The guy-whose-name-Alex-would-not-say left eventually, and after that, Nick and Jamie joined them. The second they arrived, Alex detached from Miles and took a step to the side.

“Un-fucking-believable,” snarked Miles.

“Trouble in paradise?” Nick laughed as he elbowed Alex’s side.

“Fucking bite me,” roared Alex.

Miles buried his face into his hands. “I’m out. This is getting ridiculous!” He didn’t say any more than that and just left.

-

Half an hour later, Alex knocked hard on Miles’ apartment door. Hard and repeatedly. Relentlessly. For minutes. “Finally!” The door opened and Miles had a veritably murderous look on his face. He was also wearing pajama bottoms and little else. “Were you sleeping?”

Miles’ eyes went small, his lips moved to speak, but he paused. Then he took a deep breath, briefly closed his eyes and started over. His voice was controlled and slow. “It’s almost four a.m., what else would I be doing right now?”

“You left the club like half an hour ago.”

“To go to sleep,” he reiterated. Pointedly.

Alex deliberately overlooked that attitude. Which was surprisingly easy, considering he was vastly sidetracked by Miles’ carved out physique. He’d seen him shirtless countless times, but he’d never really taken a closer look. Okay, fine, that was a lie. He had done that. But he was drunk, now. Less inhibited. He was probably staring, too.

“Why are you here?”

“Huh?” Alex looked up, to meet his eyes. “To talk.”

“At four fucking a.m., Alex?”

“Yes.” With that, he pushed past him and let himself into his apartment.

“I don’t care what you’re doing.” Miles closed the door and walked back to his bedroom. “But I’m going to bed. I’m not in the mood to discuss your mood swings right now!”

“Mood swings?” He stared after him.

Miles’ apartment had two floors, and his bedroom was on the upper one. Alex followed him up, lost his jacket along the way, dropped aimlessly somewhere on the stairs, and hovered in the doorway as he observed Miles slipping back into bed. He repeated himself, using more gusto and adding a sprinkling of indignation. “Mood swings?”

“Alex, give it a rest, will you?” His head appeared along the upper edge of the comforter. “And kill the light.”

He’d turn it up a notch if he could. “I. Don’t. Have. Mood. Swings!”

“You were hot and cold all night. The moment one of your bandmates appeared, you couldn’t let go fast enough, but once they were gone, you all but glued yourself to me!”

“I was looking out for you,” justified Alex. “Told you that guy was—”

“I swear – if you say ‘creep’ one more time!”

Maybe that was the wrong term, then! He turned to his side and pressed his back against the door, arms crossed. “I can’t help myself, alright? He was standing too close.”

“How fucking often do I have to repeat myself—”

“You don’t! You don’t let people stand this close, Miles! You never do. You let them come close, and if you know them, you let them stay close, but not _this_ close!” He lowered his voice. “Just me.”

“Just you _what_?”

It felt like removing gum out of hair, for fuck’s sake. Every time you thought you were done you could go back in and pick more! “Are you doing this on purpose? Feels like it, gotta be honest!”

“I sure as hell am not!” Miles slammed his arms onto the comforter, to flatten it. Then he raised his head, meeting Alex’s eyes. “It’s the middle of night, there’s nobody here but us and no matter what you say, I fucking swear I won’t tell anybody. So, please, be as concise as I know you can be,” he demanded sternly, “and bloody spill it already!”

Alex held his gaze, tried to gain the upper hand of whatever it was they were doing, but Miles had him locked up tight. Ripping his eyes away, admitting defeat, he stared at the ceiling instead as he blew out a seemingly infinite breath. “It freaked me out, alright? I can’t shrug stuff off. You know that! What they said about us…it hit home, somehow. I don’t know. Damnit! And then this guy shows up and you let him snuggle his—” Alex heard Miles getting ready to object and quickly flashed him a sharp look and pointed his finger warningly. “Don’t! Let me finish! It’s my fucking spot, hear me? I don’t give a shit if you hug the living daylight out of people, but when you just stand somewhere, like in a conversation or whatever, nobody gets to plaster themselves against you. That’s my privilege. I’m your best friend. I got that right. Just me. And for the record, he was fucking flirting with you!”

After a long moment of silence, Miles calmly informed him, “He’s straight, Alex.”

“So are we, Miles!” At that, Alex killed the lights. There was no reason why Miles had to see him light up like a red fucking fire siren!

The light in the hallway was still on, but the bedroom was mostly dark. Alex heard the rustling sounds and the steps of Miles’ bare feet long before he saw him appearing right in front of him. But once he did saw him, he really couldn’t look away. He was not even a foot away. He felt his breath as it collided with his skin. He saw the myriad of emotions that were whirling around in his effervescent eyes. He sensed the heat that was drifting from him. And it made his own temperature rise. “Tell me what you mean by that,” ordered Miles.

Alex snorted. “Need me to paint you a picture?”

Miles’ expression got harder. “This is not something you just toss out and then make light of.”

“Think I don’t know that?” His voice rose even though there was no cause for it. In this silence, the drop of a needle would be a considered a thunder. “Maybe they had a point,” Alex continued after a moment. “The band. Maybe…I mean, we never talk about the shit we do on stage. We bloody kissed, you and I! More than once.”

“It was hardly a proper kiss,” murmured Miles, a bit petulantly.

Alex blinked. “Still.”

“Fine,” said Miles, conceding.

“If you want to get technical, now, it was a peck more than it was a kiss,” rumbled Alex, annoyed. “But the point remains! We just do stuff like that and then pretend it never happened. People see it happening, though. The band saw.” On video, no less! “What…” Whatever he wanted to say next, he forgot as he gazed into Miles’ eyes. Here he was, spilling his heart out, admitting to his confusion and taking a good, hard swing at the foundation of their friendship and yet, all that he saw on Miles’ face was complete and utter understanding. There was nothing harsh hiding there anymore. No warning, no accusation, no fear, not even concern. Just warmth and patience and endless trust.

And suddenly Alex heard himself confessing to a secret he didn’t even know he had. “I was jealous tonight. I’ve never been that in my life. He was standing in my spot. And you let him.”

“I didn’t know that he stood that close,” affirmed Miles, barely audible. “I wasn’t paying attention, Al. I was too busy being angry at you. One moment you’re leading me on and—”

“I wasn’t leading you on. That sounds so…calculated.” Not to mention far outside the realms of any platonic friendship. “I wanted him to know that you’re mine. Like, you’re _my_ Miles. Only, when Matt and the others were around…” He swallowed hard and his thoughts came to a full stop as something registered. If Miles thought that he’d led him on, did that mean Miles _could_ be led on? As in _non-platonically_? Whatever was going on suddenly? “I was confused. I am, still.”

“What if we do it?”

“Do what,” wondered Alex, softly.

“Kiss.”

His breath hitched so fast he almost had to cough. “Like, properly?”

A small nod rolled from Miles’ head. “Nobody would ever know. But we’d know. Maybe we don’t like it. Maybe we’ll start laughing and then…”

“Then? Then we’d know.” Something much more frightening occurred to him. Something he feared was way more likely to happen. “What if we do like it?” ‘Cause he had a feeling he would.

The tiniest of smiles appeared on Miles’ face. “We’ll go from there.”

“Okay,” said Alex, shakily. Only to bring his hand to Miles’ chest, to stop a move he hadn’t begun to make. “Wait.” The second his hand came into contact with his skin, however, speaking became impossible. All of his attention dropped to his hand, to his fingertips, as they rested there, motionless, experiencing an onslaught of sensations. Miles’ skin was hot, discovered Alex. It felt much like his own, and yet, so entirely different. Soft hairs were tickling his pads as his palm flattened slowly against him, taking in the shape and strongness.

And then he became cognizant of something else altogether. To his utmost amazement, he was getting hard. It was happening fast, too. As though all of his body had been waiting for this very moment to take place. And now, that it did, everything just fell into place and his body knew what to do while his mind had not the slightest clue.

Miles’ gaze dropped to Alex’s hand as well. Their foreheads were resting against another. Like they’d done so often on stage. It was a delightfully familiar feeling in this world of new wonders. And yet, it was marvelous in itself, too. Like hearing your favorite song for the hundredths time and suddenly discovering an entirely novel meaning hidden inside those lyrics you already knew by heart.

“How—” Alex stopped speaking to take a gulp. When had his throat become so dry? He licked his lips and tried over. “How are we…I mean…should I kiss you or will you kiss me…” The weirdest, smallest laugh escaped him. “I’m afraid I forgot how to start a kiss.” Whoever said a kiss was something one could never unlearn had never experienced a kind of moment like this before.

The corners of Miles’ mouth turned upward in the most adorable way. “I fear I forgot as well. Should we try together?”

“Yes.”

The inched closer in slow-motion, wary of the step that lay ahead of them. With each increment that disappeared, Alex’s heart thudded faster. He tasted the liquor on Miles’ breath. He, himself, was far from sober but lightyears away from being drunk and wished so badly that he’d be that right now. It would make it that much easier. To act without thinking, he preferred that. The top curves of their lips brushed each other. A shiver so strong befell Alex that he involuntarily shifted, and it brought most of his upper lip directly against Miles’. His eyes fluttered close. Did he lean in? Or did Miles? Suddenly their mouths were pressed together, frozen in time and space, motionless. And while neither of them made a single move, the entire world tilted beneath them.

Slowly, Alex pulled back, dazed and speechless. He was scared to meet Miles’ eyes but did it anyway. And he found him wide-eyed and seemingly shaken. Gulping hard, Miles wet his lips, wearing the faintest, most interesting smile Alex had ever seen and cleared his throat. “It was…”

“Yeah…it…uh…” What was it, though? Different? Strange? Unimaginably overwhelming? It was a bit like discovering a whole new world, was it not? He was on the verge of a snort. It was an album’s worth of inspiration.

“Not bad,” grinned Miles.

Or that. “Was it a proper kiss, though?” Alex couldn’t believe those were his words, even when he heard himself speaking them out loud. God, what was he thinking? What was suggesting? What—

“No.”

“No? No!” And they had set out to do that, right? “So, we should…”

“Yes.” With that, Miles tipped his head forward a few degrees, rubbing the tip of his nose against Alex’s. “I’m nervous,” he confessed on a whisper that was barely more than a breath.

He was? How grateful Alex was to hear that. “So am I.”

“Do it,” said Miles. “Kiss me.”

“You do it,” said Alex. They hovered too close to one another. Somebody had to make the first move and they’d have to make it soon, or he’d melt to the ground. “Please!”

“Promise we’ll still be friends when it’s over!”

Alex looked deeply into Miles’ eyes. “Promise.”

Miles closed the gap and as his entire body sank against Alex’s, their lips met like lips were meant to meet from the dawn of time. Whereas his heart had thudded wildly a moment ago, it now paused, struck in wonder. His lips, they felt so warm and welcoming. So soft and pliant and amazing. He stood no chance but to kiss him back, matching his torturously tame pace for as long as he could.

But when Miles let go, to gasp for air, Alex lost the battle with his own control. He forgot that he was nervous. He forgot that he was kissing his best friend. He forgot everything, all at once. All he remembered was that there, right there, in front of him, were the most incredible lips he’d ever encountered, and he wanted more. His hand, burnt by now by the heat of Miles’ body, slid up, around his partner’s neck, and he pulled hard, starting the kiss anew and intensifying it beyond order.

From low in Miles’ throat, a keenly sensual moan escaped, and Alex swallowed it whole. No longer caring for anything but this moment, his tongue slipped languidly into Miles’ mouth where it was eagerly welcomed and given a wonderful tour. Dimly aware of hands that roamed his body, of his straining erection, and of Miles’ hard cock, which he felt so utterly against his own, Alex got rid of even the last shred of distance between them. His left leg angled up, giving Miles the space and the hint to use it.

He did right away, bringing his thigh between Alex’s and rewarding him with a friction so sweet and so unsatisfying that it left him on the verge of losing his sanity. He was desperate, now, groping and clawing and scratching, possibly. He was spurred on by Miles’ equally fervent hunger for him and he felt aroused to no end knowing he was the one bringing forth the same kind of lust in him.

He let out a wanton cry when Miles rolled his hips, thrusting against him, as his lips traveled lazily down to his throat. Eyes in the far back of his head, Alex met his thrusts perfectly.

What were they doing? When had they decided to do more than kiss? Why couldn’t he stop? His head was swimming as he got closer and closer to the brink. It was insane, all of this. Here he was, in the arms of a guy who’d been his best friend for a decade, and he desired him in a way that was beyond compare. Gripping Miles’ shoulders, vaguely afraid he was drawing blood, Alex held on as his body began to shake and shudder in tune with that of his friend-turned-lover, washed over by an orgasm that hit out of nowhere. And it hit him hard!

As he slowly slipped back down to earth, collapsing against the doorframe of Miles’ bedroom, Alex rested his forehead against Miles’ firm shoulder, while holding onto his waist.

Miles’ hand reached up, and Alex sank into his touch when he brushed the tangled strands of hair from damp cheek ever so gently while placing the lightest of kisses to the other one. “That…was…”

Another little kiss. “Yes,” rasped Miles.

“Quite so,” agreed Alex, moving his thumbs along Miles’ skin, unable to stop touching him. At long last, he leaned back to look into his eyes and found, to his complete surprise, nothing but infinite amazement. Not a flicker of regret. “Where do we go from here, then?” he asked, overcome by a sudden need for direction.

“How about…” Miles hesitated as if considering the options. He let go of him, and Alex looked down to his hand when Miles linked it with his own. “How about we go to sleep?” His voice was quiet. “It’s still dark, isn’t it? Maybe daylight will hold an answer.” His feet started to move.

Alex followed him, let him lead him there. “And if not?”

Pausing in front of the foot of it, Miles turned. Shrugging. “I don’t know.”

“We might have ruined it all, then.” The prospect was chilling, and it made Alex slide his hand back against Miles’ stomach, seeking his contact and his warmth for reassurance. As he did so, he felt that entirely new and yet too familiar tingling all over his skin. This man that he’d known half of his life and considered irreplaceable was in front of him and suddenly, he no was no longer _just_ his friend. He was this marvelous, fascinating, endlessly alluring person that he wanted to get to know in entirely unprecedented ways. “Miles?”

“Hm?”

“If we did ruin it all…” His hand drifted up, determinedly, and took a step toward him, growing bolder when he felt him take in a sharp breath. “What’s the point of stopping now?” Reaching Miles’ throat, he let his fingers wander around and settle on his nape. Then he tugged hard. Brought his mouth back against his own. They might have begun with timid, shy kisses. But they’d grown out of them fast. It was a hungry, heady one that they exchanged now. “I want you,” Alex confessed, not just to Miles, but to himself as well. “I want us to…” God, how did one ask for that?

Miles had always been the one who found the right words way faster than Alex did. So, as Alex struggled to say what he wanted to say, his partner in crime met his eyes and held them. There was desire in his gaze, love, trust, and infinite interest. His hand went to Alex’s shirt, to his buttons. “Are you sure?”

“I’m afraid we’re making a big mistake,” he confided, leaning closer, seeking his nearness. “But I can’t let go of you.” Fingers danced over his shirtless body. “I can’t stop touching you.” They reached his stomach, hard and defined. He traced his lines and shapes and licked his lips in appetite. “Do you want me?” he asked, at last, no longer trusting his own judgment.

“More than anything in the world,” whispered Miles. He grabbed his head and kissed him.

He was drowning, realized Alex, but it felt so good. Going under, sinking deep into this liquid heat that was everywhere, inside and out, made him dizzy and yet, it cleared his head at the same time. There was nothing else. Just him and Miles. He shrugged out of the shirt that Miles had unbuttoned and pressed himself against his rock-solid frame, delighted, proud almost, to discover that he was hard again. Letting his hands slide down to the waistband of his pajama bottoms, Alex pushed them down and watched with keen attention as the slipping fabric revealed more and more of Miles’ erection. He was big and hard and thick and it occurred to him that he’d seen him naked before, glimpses of him, rather, when sharing a locker room or when they’d been younger and had taken a few skinny-dips in some lake or other. How was it that he didn’t care then, but couldn’t look away now? His fingers circled around him as Miles’ cheek rubbed along Alex’s own, panting into his ear and driving him straight into a mad state.

“Ahhh,” sighed Alex, startling himself and grinning because of it when Miles’ hand wrapped around him. When had he undone his pants? They were pooling around his ankles, now. Shit, when had that happened? The grinning morphed into a breathy chuckle as Miles’ other hand reached around, giving his ass a good squeeze and bringing their cocks to align. “Yes!” He was trusting, now, seeking friction and that much more. “Please!”

A low, vibrating rumble echoed from Miles’ throat as Alex’s hands became needy. “Turn around,” ordered Alex, becoming aware too late of what he’d just demanded and winding up stunned when Miles promptly did as wished. “Is it okay? I mean…do you mind?”

“Fuck me,” begged Miles with no hesitation and no pause.

“Babe…” Alex placed a tender kiss on against his nape, licked the skin teasingly, then grabbed his hips and gripped hard.

Miles shuddered against him. His head dropped back, against Alex’s shoulder, and his lips attached to the side of his neck, eagerly leaving a mark. As it dawned on him that people might spot it later, he suckled harder. One hand, he slid between them, and he let his finger play with Miles’ hole, thrilled by the sounds he drew from him.

“More,” moaned Miles.

Alex was only too happy to fulfill that demand. “Bed.” As Miles crawled on top of it, he flashed him a smirk so dirty and obscene that Alex had to lick his lips again. “Condom?”

“Nightstand,” said Miles, rolling onto his back and spreading his legs wide.

He was naughty. Miles had always been that, so it shouldn’t be a surprise. But it was that. And he loved it. Loved the wickedness in his eyes, that rakish look and that cheeky smile. Alex quickly grabbed a rubber and sheathed himself. He kicked his pooling pants aside, briefs as well, got rid of socks and smirked.

He was no longer nervous. No longer worried. All thoughts were gone from his head. Nothing but lust and longing remained. He sank down to the floor, to his knees and placed his lips to the inside of Miles’ thighs, kissing a languid path up to his most sensitive area. “Like that?”

“Gnnhh…”

He took that as a yes and chuckled, kissing his thigh with even more vigor. Legs had always been one of his favorite parts to play with. His felt different than those of the women that had come before him. Harder, firmer, soft still, but a different kind of soft. It was male, decidedly so, and that bloody turned him on!

His face hovered above Miles’ cock, now, and he couldn’t deny himself a taste. A lick here and there. Miles was squirming beneath him. And as much as he wanted to swallow him, just to watch his friend lose his mind, he decided to come back for that one later. At this moment, something else was much more tempting.

As his tip pressed against Miles’ entrance, Alex gently kissed his lips. “Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

“Need you,” hushed Miles, writhing.

Alex pushed. Nudged. Tried and succeeded in gaining passage. Moaning filled the air. Pants. Gasps for air. He could have sworn the air began to fog. “Is it good?”

“More!”

Moving carefully, he kept pausing, kept asking, to make sure he wasn’t hurting.

Miles got impatient, though, flipping them over swiftly and sinking all the way down with a throaty groan and hazy eyes.

“Fuck!”

“Yes…please,” begged Miles.

Taking hold of Miles’ thighs, Alex let him set the pace. Hips began to roll. And soon after, everything was a wild and sweaty and graceless, but magnificently, overwhelmingly erotic. They rolled and turned and tumbled through the sheets, kissing, groping, biting and smiling, lost in this new thing that they were discovering together.

It was early in the morning and Miles was still snoring in bed when Alex lingered in front of the coffee maker, struggling to get it to work. On any day, it’d be something he could do in his sleep. Most days, he did do it while still asleep! But today was different. And the simplest things demanded more attention than ever before. As though all of his head was busy elsewhere. Which it was.

As he finally got that thing to work, he turned around and gazed out of the kitchen window, lost in thought.

Where to go from here?

Could he go back? He’d discovered this whole new world that carried unimaginable wonders. And yet, he knew it wasn’t a world that would connect well with the one he was bound to return to.

He hadn’t meant to stay the night. But, when they had finished, when they had fallen back into the sheets, a tangled, breathless mess of weak limbs and satisfied grins, he’d found himself incapable of leaving the bed. So, he’d rolled to his side, into Miles’ arm, had covered them with a sheet and then he’d drifted off into slumber. A very peaceful one, at that.

“You’re wearing my pajama bottoms,” observed Miles, stepping into the kitchen but keeping close to the door.

Alex smiled softly. A shrug rolled off his shoulders. “First thing I found.” Which was a lie. He’d stepped over his briefs, past his pants, straight toward his bottoms. He didn’t know why. As he took in Miles’ state of undress, wearing nothing but a bedsheet that was chaotically wrapped around his lean hips, Alex’s smile turned into a grin. His short hair, to his utter amazement, looked ruffled, and his face carried a sleepy, slightly frazzled expression. In lieu of anything deep or meaningful to say, he settled for their usual naughty humor instead. “You look well fucked.”

Miles rewarded him with a snorted chuckle. “Do I, huh?”

“Somebody must have done a good job last night.”

His eyes were firmly fixed on him and Alex knew that Miles was trying his hardest to figure out where to place his next step. Alex would love to make it easy for him, to help him map the road. But he didn’t know the path. He couldn’t even pinpoint the direction.

“You’re joking about it. Is that a good or a bad thing?”

Alex sighed as he turned toward the coffee maker. “I’m making light of a serious situation. ‘Cause I don’t know what else to say or do.”

“I’m surprised you’re still here, to be honest.”

“Me, too.” He kept his attention on the coffee and startled when he felt Miles’ lips on his shoulder. In no time, though, he was relaxing against him as his eyes fell shut. “What have we done, Miles?” Step by step, the gravity of last night's actions began to sink in.

“A bad thing?” Another kiss. “You have a girlfriend. I have a girlfriend. We’re in the middle of a tour together. If we keep going…I mean, whatever this is, if we keep it up, it’ll fuck things up.”

He knew that. He’d known long before he’d leaned in for the first kiss. “We must stop it, then.”

“Yes.” With a heavy sigh, Miles let go of him and Alex felt the distance moving back between them. “We got a few days off, right? So, let’s use those. Take a break. And when we’re back, we’re back as friends. Best friends.”

“You think we can do that?”

“What choice do we have?”

Alex spun around to face him. “We won’t let it get weird?”

Miles shook his head. “We’ll crack a joke. We’ll be us.”

The coffee was done, but the time for it had passed. Making his way to the door, pausing briefly next to Miles, Alex offered a grateful and also sad smile. What if this was an opportunity, he thought, and here they were tossing it away? He brought his hand to Miles’ left cheek and placed a kiss to his right one. “At least, now we know.”

“Yes.”

For a moment, their heads rested against another. Then Alex pulled away. “I’ll get dressed and…um…”

A nod from Miles. “See you in a few days.”

“Bye.”


	2. Lucky Coincident

**Note: I thought I'd keep this a one-shot, but I kinda got inspired to write another part. Hope you'll like it. Maybe there'll be more. :)**

They had barely spoken since London. They’d met once, in the studio, for some scheduled recording of a few songs, but it had been a very professional affair. There had been a schedule, a set-up, handlers, plenty of people who all pretended to be very important. And there had been Taylor and Hannah. Therefore, Miles and Alex had pretended to be grown-ups. They had acted like the platonic friends that they were. They had done their duty. And they had swiftly parted ways the moment the commitment was fulfilled.

Now, though…

Miles sighed heavily as he placed the guitar strap around his shoulders. He snatched a pick from the mic-stand, strummed a chord and waited for Alex to sing. They were performing at some festival in Canada, and once that was done with, they’d hop on the tour bus and drive all night to Cleveland, for a gig that was just a single day away. As much as he loved touring, this one was packed tight with gigs and given the murky status of his friendship with Alex, spending that much time in close quarters, for the moment, had the potential to be daunting at best and the gruesome, haunting kind of a nightmare at worst. And from the little bit of interaction he’d had with Alex today, his friend shared his concern.

Unlike all those other times, this time, it took longer for Miles to find his footing and get into the performance. Whereas the stage was his living room, his favorite place on most days, today, it felt like coming home and finding your house renovated and distorted beyond recognition. The furniture stood in different spots, lamps had been moved and that plushy carpet that used to warm your feet so well now hid in some dim corner while your soles sat on cold tiles. He glanced at Alex and groaned.

His living room was warped, too. Miles could tell from the way he clung to the mic, remaining close to the edge of the stage, near the audience. It was the one familiar thing in this strange new house of theirs - the tv still played the same channel. Cheers and screams and words to songs they wrote themselves.

It took time to take in the new surroundings, but by the time they had finished the first half of the set, Miles realized that, while the couch might have traveled across the room and the big and heavy bookshelf no longer sided with the cabined but held hands with gaudy ficus, now, they were still the same pieces. He moved across the stage, played his chords, put on a game face and sidled up to Alex.

He was inviting him to lean into the old and accept the new.

Alex’s eyes were wary and where his arm might have once flung itself around Miles’ shoulders without hesitation, it now moved hesitantly. Testing its welcome.

Miles smiled. He let him know that it was okay.

Alex nodded briefly. Message received.

Slowly, they warmed up and got with the program. In the midst of Bad Habits, Miles was gifted a TLSP banner and Alex found it amusing to tie it around his neck. By the time _Standing Next To Me_ was due, it became apparent that not everything would be as it had once been. For now, at least. By force of habit, when the time arrived, Alex joined Miles at his mic, leaning in and doing their well-known shenanigans. As soon as their eyes met and the breaths mingled, the spell of normalcy was broken and hyper-awareness set in.

Alex quickly retreated and remained away.

_Meeting Place_ was another one of those songs that invited naughty actions but it was a different kind of game they played this time. Instead of one-upping each other by breaking into personal space, this time, unable to not fuck around, they settled for making the other one laugh. After Alex had tried his luck by miming a T-Rex during _Miracle Aligner_ , Miles did his part by acting all coy and shy at the end of this one, drawing the giggles straight from Alex, despite his friend's best efforts to remain cool.

They could only act as professionals for so long. It was inevitable for them to crack and it felt incredible to laugh with him again and finding their friendship not doomed, yet.

There was still hope.

-

“God, I hate being stuck on the bus.” Alex plopped down on the small bench in the kitchenette of the tour bus, comfortable that it was, and sank his head down onto his crossed arms. A drawn-out groan rumbled from his throat. “We should have sprung for the plane.”

“Then we’d be stuck at the airport right now.” James leaned against the sink, arms crossed. “Suck it up. It’s late anyway. This way, you’ll get to sleep.”

Miles sat across from Alex, resting with his back against the side of the bus, sipping on a tall glass of something that was commonly served in very small glasses. He glanced at him, a well-hidden, yet extremely sly grin on his face. The kind of grin that only Alex would see, if he cared to look. Which he did. “You know airlines have this rule about getting drunk and all that.” A second tall glass sat on the table in front of him and he nudged it toward him. “Focus on the positive.”

Alex raised his head, took the glass and tipped his head the slightest bit.

Miles nodded once, curtly, barely visible. But it was another large stride toward a renewed friendship.

“I’m beat,” announced James. “Night.”

Waving a hand, too exhausted to do more, Alex sat up further, turned and stretched his legs out on the bench. One arm bent behind his head, he yawned soundly. “You good? I mean…anything new…like…or not…”

Brow tugged up, Miles waited for this strange sentence to come to an end.

It never did. Alex rolled his eyes. He started over. Cleared his throat. “How are you these days?”

Miles sputtered a laugh. Then held up a finger, cleared his throat as well, and calmly replied, “Splendidly.” He made sure to pronounce each word properly and with great care. “As it so happens, I found a marvelous new addition to fill yet another empty spot in my shoe cabinet and mother called to inform me that she cannot wait for my return to test out and bake yet another cake based on a recipe that she was given by your mother, who, herself, got it from her hairdresser. How is your life, Alexander?”

Alex snorted a rotten laugh. “More shoes? Wait!” He scrunched his nose. “What’s that with the recipe? If my mom got it first, why do you get the cake and I don’t?!”

“Beats me.” Gone was the formidable sentence structure. “Be nice to me and I’ll share.”

It was Alex’s turn to raise his brows and they rose high.

Miles winced. “That came out wrong.”

More chuckling from Alex. “’tis alright. I get what you mean.”

Did he? ‘Cause Miles didn’t know what he meant so he was stunned to hear that Alex knew! He let it go, though. “It’s late. And we got a long day ahead of us. I’m out.”

Halfway off the bench, Alex reached over the table and held onto his arm. Miles stopped moving at once. Looked at where they were touching.

Alex looked there as well. Slowly let go. Pulled away. “Um…thank you. I, er, wanted to say that. Thank you. For, you know, being you. For being cool with…well, what happened.”

He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, so he’d felt the palm of Alex’s hand directly against his skin. And it had completely rattled him. He couldn’t say why. It wasn’t even the first touch since they’d done it. But this one was different, somehow. Meeting his gaze, Miles shrugged, unsure what else to do or say. “Yeah. I mean, likewise. Right? Night, Al.”

“Night, Mi.”

-

They were drunk in Cleveland. It helped considerably, for it made them forget that they were supposed to watch their steps around each other. Then again, they forgot to watch their steps around each other…

They had done plenty of reckless things throughout the set, but the performance of _Meeting Place_ really took the head off. It wasn’t the first time and likely not the last time that they sported boners on stage. It was embarrassing, honestly. But sometimes, it just couldn’t be helped. The thrill of a show, the gusto of the performance, the surging energy that made the air crackle – everything. It could get to you. After a few years of performing one got used to it. There was little one could do about it at any rate. At least, one could do little to suppress it. One could do a lot to not make it worse.

But, just as they had forgotten to keep a reasonable distance, thanks to all that liquor, they also forgot that the audience was quite close to the stage. And that they had camera phones. And that there was an audience at all.

_“…and they tried so hard…”_

_“…to steer away…”_

As he and Alex sang line after line like they had done what felt like a million times before, they slipped into their old habits by sheer force of habit. Alex snuck up on him, Miles wrapped his arm around him, mics and mouths neared and before he knew what was happening, Miles felt Alex’s hard-on rubbing up against his thigh, briefly tempting him to twist his hips the tiniest bit to tease.

The jolt of pleasure that surged through him ripped him out of his stupor and he let go, as did Alex, who no doubt had felt it too! After that, Alex had fled the stage, hurried off to the side, and finished the song from there. It would have been weird for Miles to run off stage, dig a hole and sink into it, therefore he’d joined Alex for the last bits of the song.

Damn Alex and his drunken stage, however. He’d leaned into him. He’d touched and caressed his cheek. And then he’d gone and bloody carried him off stage like he was the groom and Miles his eager bride.

God, if only there’d be a bed waiting for them!

With a roaring groan, half sexual-frustration and half mortification he slipped away to his dressing room once the gig was done only to emerge, unchanged, to hurry into the tour bus and go to bed at once.

Alex must have had the same idea. He hadn’t changed either. And he, too, was all but sprinting to toward the bus. The bad thing about leaving so soon after the concert meant running into the fans that filled the parking lot. They got caught in no time and as they reached the bus, they were flanked on all sides. Some security guards had rushed in. And for some reason, Alex got handed an acoustic.

“What you need that for,” murmured Miles, still eager to slip and slide off into the safety of the bus.

“I was told to play a tune with you. For the fans. Good PR and such.” Alex’s face was more than telling and Miles didn’t need to guess what he thought about that.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“ _Meeting place_ ,” whispered Alex, and began strumming.

Miles scoffed silently. Great idea! Sure. Get it over with! He began to sing.

Still drunk and entirely too close to Alex, thanks to the crowd and the nature of this stripped-down performance, Miles kept slipping up, kept bringing his hand up to Alex’s shoulder. His bare shoulder. His finely formed, hard and strong, unclad, gold-burned shoulder. He’d bitten into it a few days ago. Left an imprint, too. Couldn’t be helped. He and Alex had been in the midst of…and then Al had rolled his hips and Miles had lost it a little…or very much so. Damnit, this wasn’t a memory he should be having right now!

And why the fuck did Alex look at him with those eyes that overflowed with a desire for dirty, naughty, rotten sex? Shit. Either he was getting his shower soon - cold! - or he’d end up on his knees, going for a late-night snack!

Alex handed the guitar off and slipped his hand into Miles. He didn’t like close crowds of strangers and, not for the first time, he wrapped himself into Miles’ arm, using him like a shield to stay safe. Miles tended to smile when Alex did that. He liked protecting Alex and even more, he enjoyed having Alex neatly nestled inside his arms. But tonight? He was still hard! It refused to go away! And he could have sworn that Alex had just rubbed the back of his butt against his cock! Damn drunken tease that he was!

Some fan screamed for the Cleveland jerseys that they were wearing since singing the encore of the show. They’d almost made it into the bus until Alex let go, stripped his shirt and hurried off to hand it to some stranger. Fucking hell! Now, Miles would have to do the same. He did it quickly. A few last smiles, some waves, a last autograph and then he was finally inside.

A long and deep breath escaped his throat as he collapsed onto the large curved couch in the back of the bus, where, finally, he was alone. He closed his eyes and quickly nodded off.

By the time he woke up, he was no longer alone. Sprawled out on the other couch was Alex, still shirtless, wearing only sweatpants and headphones, which were plucked into his electric. Raising his head, which felt like it weighed a solid ton, Miles glanced at the small display of the DVD player below the TV, which flashed the time. Almost one a.m.? Becoming more aware of his surroundings, he heard laughter and voices from beyond the closed door. The bus was moving, which meant the rest of the band was still celebrating.

He dropped back onto the couch.

Alex took his headphones off. “Sorry. If you wanted to be alone, I mean. But…you can hear them partying! Wasn’t in the mood for that.”

“’Tis fine.” He rolled his head to the side, to look at him. “Why aren’t you asleep, though?”

“Got this tune stuck in my head. And this line. Something about cheese.” When Miles squinted, Alex raised his shoulders with a smile. “Don’t ask.” He waved one hand, dismissing it. “Is it just me or is it bloody hot in this bus?”

Now that Alex mentioned it, Miles did feel the leather of the couch sticking to his naked back. “A/C broken or?”

“Probably. Didn’t ask.”

“Ah.”

Alex moved the guitar off his lap, placed it on the floor and leaned back. The space was small and his naked feet wound up not that far away from Miles’ face. Miles scoffed as he twisted his nose away. “Gross, Alex!”

“Oh, fuck off,” growled Alex. “Took a shower earlier! Unlike you, you sweaty, smelly, disgusting—”

“Go ahead,” dared Miles, eyes tinted with equal parts warning and humor. “Say what you want to say!”

Alex waited. Eyes met. Smirks moved into places. “Person,” said Alex finally. “I wanted to say ‘person’.”

Snorted laughter from Miles. “Bullshit!”

“Prove it,” challenged Alex.

“Don’t care,” stated Miles smugly. He got up. “‘m taking a shower.”

More laughter from Alex. “You need it!”

When he was done with the shower, the others were still partying. Miles grabbed his pillow from the bunk, two bottles of water from the kitchen and a bag of gummy bears as well. Then he walked back to the back, slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Lock the door, will you?” Alex asked. “Don’t want ‘em to move the party into this little solace of quietude.”

“I hear you!” Miles clicked the lock shut. “There’s no way I’m getting any sleep out there tonight.” He tossed a bottle at Alex as he dropped back onto the couch. “Guess you’ll have to share this room.”

“Depends.” Alex raised a brow. “Are your feet clean?”

The bag of gummy bears met Alex squarely in the chest and he winced. Miles smiled innocently. “Wanna smell?”

Alex flipped him off.

“Got anywhere with that cheese-song of yours while I was gone?”

“The cheese became an ultracheese!”

“A what now?”

“Wait and see.”

“That a reference for the moon or something?”

“Why’d you say that?” wondered Alex, glancing at him curiously.

Miles shrugged. “Don’t know. You’re always talking about the moon lately. And it’s round and yellow.”

“Like cheese,” concluded Alex.

“Exactly.”

“Wouldn’t it be profound if it were that?” Alex grabbed the guitar and strummed it. “It’s not. Although the new album is centered on the moon, I’m afraid. Quite definitely so.”

“You’re speaking in riddles again.” He leaned back.

“It’s a moon base.”

“Not riddles,” corrected Miles dryly. “Nonsense.”

The gummy bears flew back and this time around, the bag landed against Miles’ shoulder. He caught it as it dropped into his lap, stuck out his tongue and opened the bag. For a while, he observed Alex as he alternated between strumming the same variation of chords and stopping just to adjust or add notes in his notebook. Eventually, he took pity on him. Bringing the bag with him, he made his way across the small room, sat down next to Alex and took the guitar away from him.

Alex, weird and obsessed that he could be at times, needed a solid minute until he even realized the guitar was no longer in his lap. His eyes reared toward Miles and he stared at him. “I need that.”

Miles chuckled. “No shit. Let me strum that chord. I got it down by now. You do your lyrics.” Stuffing his mouth with a handful of sweets, Miles got to work. He played and played and played. The same few notes, over and over. Before long, he was leaning back, eyes closed, legs crossed on the couch, strumming blindly. “Is there a specific word you’re looking for?” The notebook was perched on Alex’s legs. The poor pencil was being eaten alive as he had it wedged between his teeth. The other hand pinched the last drops of blood straight out of Miles’ leg and he bit back a groan. “I’m not sure you’ll find the word by ruining my knee!”

Alex blinked, inspected, then loosened his deathly grip. “Sorry.” He kept his hand on Miles’ knee, however, and now that the pain subsided, something worse made its presence known. Tingles. Alex always did that. It was an age-old habit of it. He had to hold on to something whenever he wrote a song. Whether it was a guitar, a drink, or Miles. Usually, he didn’t mind substituting as some kind of mash-able stress-relief, but now, it messed with his head. And Alex wasn’t jamming his leg anymore. He was absentmindedly caressing it.

He closed his eyes again. Not to enjoy, he told himself. To ignore.

It wasn’t until he felt a heavy weight in his lap that he raised his lids to inspect. It was needless. He knew who it was. Alex. First, it was the only thing possible and second, he could smell him. Fucker was wearing that damned Eau de Parfum again, that rare one that Miles had gotten him once, years ago. It was limited and therefore hard to come by. It was fancy and expensive and Alex wasn’t the type to splurge on these kind of things, unless they were made out of leather, or could be called a guitar. But he’d bought the Parfum on more than one occasion ever since then. The scent truly was intoxicating.

Miles stared at the man that was stretched out across his lap, desperately trying to reach the gummy bears that he’d placed far away from him. He was so eager to get to them that he was practically lying on top of his favorite electric guitar, risking it getting out of tune – a crime so gruesome and unforgivable that he and Alex had gotten into a days-long fight about it a few years back. “A little help would be nice!”

Miles’ eyes wandered from the bears to Alex and back to the bears. “Oh, you want these?”

Alex leaned back. “If you wouldn’t mind sharing.”

“Me? Never.” He pulled out a single bear. “Please. Have it.”

A dramatic scoff from Alex. “Oh that generosity!”

“Or have it not.” Miles moved his hand away.

“Okay, okay!” He ate it quickly. “I like the red ones better.”

“Me too.”

“You like all bears.”

“I _eat_ all bears. I _prefer_ the red ones. What is an ultracheese?” Miles tried sneaking a peek at the lyrics, but the guy’s handwriting was scratchy and scrawny at best. He could produce the prettiest lines and letters, but for his lyrics, it almost seemed he deliberately scrambled them down. To avoid nosy looks.

Alex moved the notebook out of his line of sight as his eyes pinned him into his place. “We have a deal, remember? No peeking! Unless we explicitly write together, we do not snoop! That was your idea!”

“‘Cause you kept changing my lyrics,” said Miles, pointing a finger at him.

“On one song,” retorted Alex, defensively.

“Fine. Keep your lyrics.”

“I will,” confirmed Alex coolly.

Miles huffed. “Come on! Tell me.” He put the guitar away. Alex seemed done with the writing. “Give me a hint!” The song was nowhere near finished, as far as the lyrics were concerned. That much, Miles had gathered. It would be a while, then, until Matt, Nick and Jamie got copies of the lyrics. He could call them eventually. Ask them about the damn cheese. But they, too, would only be able to guess. He’d done it before – asking them. When Alex had written _The Hellcat Spangled Shalalalala_ and Miles had been fierce in his attempts at deciphering _that_ expression. None of them had known. And Alex still hadn’t told him!

“It’s…cheesy,” allowed Alex.

“Oooooh,” drawled Miles theatrically. “That explains it!”

“Fuck off, will you?” Alex slammed the notebook shut and scooted further into the couch, pulling his legs up. “It is what it is. Cheesy. Figure it out.”

“I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but decoding your lyrics is harder than playing Bowie with one hand tied to your back! Cheese, Al? How am I supposed to figure out the meaning of bloody cheese, huh?”

“You Gouda google it.”

Miles, who’d just filled his mouth with a bunch of bears, choked on them. Between struggling for air and trying to control his laughter, he stared wide-eyed at his innocently smiling friend and hit his shoulder. A few coughs later, he had regained his lung function and swallowed the sweets. “That was mean!”

“But funny.” Alex reached over Miles’ stomach once more. “Give me the bag already.”

“You’ll take out all the red ones!”

“So? Let me.” Alex arched, slipped and quickly shot his hand out for support. It landed dead-center on Miles’ startled cock.

Miles jerked upright.

Alex flinched hard. Retreated hastily. “Fuck! Sorry!”

A deep groan and a long exhale later, Miles relaxed. “’tis alright. Nothing got hurt.”

With a cheeky grin on his face, Alex shifted to meet his eyes. “Look at us, joking around like we used to. Who’d have thought that a week ago, huh? ’twas a bit awkward at the studio, back in London. I feared it’d be that for the rest of the tour.”

He’d worried about that as well. “Maybe it was because we weren’t alone? _They_ were there and…” Admittedly, back in London, Miles had felt confused in the presence of Hannah and Taylor because of what he’d done with Alex and not because Alex had been there as well. Fine, maybe he’d felt a little bit off because of him. After all, it had been the first meeting since they’d done it. But the major amount of unease came at the sight of the girlfriends. He hadn’t felt guilty. He hadn’t felt bad. He should have felt that but he hadn’t. That had unsettled him. Still did.

“Yeah.” Alex placed his arm against the back of the couch, and propped his head against it. “Honestly? I thought it’d be harder.”

Miles bit his lip. Squeezed his eyes. But he couldn’t suppress it. The damn giggles. They overwhelmed him. Conquered him wholly. Within seconds, he was shaking hard with laughter, folding over and laughing loudly.

A moment later, Alex was roaring with laughter as well. “That was not what I meant!” More laughter. “Swear!”

“I know,” wheezed Miles. “Can’t help myself!” Tears were streaming down his eyes. His mind was rotten. There was no denying that! Sitting up and taking deep breaths, his eyes locked with Alex’s and they kept bursting up over and over again. It felt so bloody good to laugh with him. To see those eyes of his as they sparkled and twinkled with humor. To watch those lips curl. To observe his nose as it scrunched while his cheeks dimpled in that way he found so fucking adorable.

And suddenly, he wasn’t laughing anymore. With a hand that was startlingly steady and determined, much to his own shock, he reached over, cupped Alex’s face and leaned in, tenderly brushing his lips against his. Slowly. Sinking deeper into the kiss as the seconds ticked by like a distant lullaby, luring them into a dream too sweet to resist, Miles moaned into Alex’s mouth. The moan morphed into a groan as it dawned on him what he was doing. He pulled back, reluctantly, but decidedly. With his eyes closed, he waited for the wild drum of his heart to slow down. It didn’t. He carefully raised his lids, not yet meeting Alex’s gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

“Are you?”

God, if he didn’t know better, he’d say Alex sounded disappointed. Miles dared to look at him. They were still so very close. And he found himself struck by unexpected and luminous lust that let the darkness of his eyes shine like illustrious black stars in a world of shallow white. “No,” whispered Miles, unable to lie.

“Good!” Alex grabbed his head, pulled him in and kissed him again. This time, it wasn’t slow. It was ravenous and wild. And it melted away the last of Miles’ restraint.

With unleashed hunger, he crawled onto his lap, straddled him and turned the fiery kiss into a wet and filthy affair that left them both struggling for air and famished for more. His fingers twirled and twisted in Alex’s hair, and he pulled the strands, knowing it turned him on and he was dying to do just that. He wanted him moaning and panting and on the very brink of losing his mind.

“Fuck,” groaned Alex, when Miles’ mouth sucked on his throat. He arched against him, stretched his neck and purred. “Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

Not having any intention of doing that, Miles dragged his teeth along his Adam’s apple. A shiver rushed through Alex’s body and Miles felt it underneath his hands. He let them slide everywhere, feeling, touching, groping every last inch of him that he could get to. He was hot and cold and shaking with desire and they hadn’t even undressed yet! Unsteady fingers curled into the waistband of Alex’s sweatpants and he tugged unsuccessfully. “Damnit!” Miles got up first, then roughed Alex off the couch.

A throaty, sexy chuckle vibrated from his throat. Miles kissed it straight from his lips. “Hold on.” Alex reached into his pocket, pulled out a condom and tossed it onto the couch. Then he pushed the sweats down, before doing the same with Miles’. He grabbed his head, kissed him thoroughly only to twirl them around and push him back down into the cushions.

It was fucking insane having Alex go at him like that. Miles was swimming in arousal. Sitting there on the couch, feasting with his eyes on the marvelous sight that was Alex Turner in the nude, he licked his lips and growled. And when he thought it couldn’t possibly get hotter than that, Alex dropped to his knees with a grin so damn cocky that even Miles’ dick twitched in awe.

“Last time,” Alex rasped, “we skipped some good parts.” His hands moved to inside of Miles’ knees, spreading his legs wide. “Let’s not make that mistake again.” His head lowered and he kissed the inner thigh of his right leg. Light at first. Then stronger. Suckling in between.

He was squirming restlessly. “Al…”

“So needy,” he whispered. Kissed further up.

Miles gripped his hair again, pulled and fisted.

Alex moaned with approval. His kisses got ferocious. His teeth nipped his sensitive skin. Hands kept his legs apart. “Do it,” begged Miles. “Please!”

“Do what?” That voice, that smugness, that confidence. Miles was smiling dreamily. That man! “Tell me, Mi. Tell what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

“Suck me,” he panted. “Take me in your mouth.”

Alex was a man of his words. Without hesitation, he grabbed his shaft, kissed the crown and slid his wet lips down the long hard rod of flesh.

Miles was done for. Eyes rolled into the far back of his head. “Babe! Yes!”

He sucked harder, added his hand to create friction. Only to let go without warning.

“Hunh?” It was all that Miles could speak. Words were not an option at the moment.

Alex looked up at him from his spot of the floor, between his legs. He brought his finger to his lips, wiped the bottom one and sucked the tip into his mouth, making a decadent show of it. Swirled his tongue around it. One brow of his quirked up. He let go of the finger with a pop.

Miles almost blew up then and there. Unable to stop, he brought his own hand to his cock and stroked it. Once. Twice. Alex watched. Then raised his gaze again. Only this time, Miles decided it was time for some teasing of his own. Gliding off the couch, to the floor, coming to rest right in front of Alex, he curled one arm ever so slowly around his lower back, drew him in and aligned their bodies perfectly. Two hard dicks rubbed along one another, bringing dazed smiles to both faces. The other hand, Miles raised. The tips of his fingers danced a breezy waltz up the line of Alex’s spine, tickling and caressing his skin. His mouth got greedy and captured its counterpart in an endless kiss. The hand of the arm that was snaked around the back slid lower and took in the splendid curve of Alex’s ass.

Miles had never been good at resisting an opportunity to pat that one. He had a beautiful butt and Alex knew. He’d caught him doing squats one time and had joked that those did wonders for a nice behind. Alex had met his eyes dead-on and declared, with that signature arrogance of his, “I know.”

Yes. He knew. And Miles squeezed that shapely perfection hard. Another growl from Alex. One that quickly changed into a drawled and breathy moan when Miles slipped his middle finger inside of him. Just the tip. Slowly. Carefully. And curled ever so slightly.

Alex clung to him. The kisses turned uneven. Eventually they stopped. His head fell into the crook of Miles’ shoulder, which he pecked and nibbled on at times, but mostly, he just rested it there, panting into Miles’ ear.

Those sounds, those breathless sighs that he was rewarded with, was all that Miles needed to know Alex liked it. A second digit joined in on the fun. “Gnnnhhhgh,” keened Alex. Miles smiled against his cheek, placed a feathery kiss or two there. Then Alex reached behind himself, stilled Miles’ ministrations and let his tongue slide deeply into his mouth for a hot and heavy kiss that lasted not nearly long enough. “Now,” demanded Alex.

Miles nodded. Got up, reached for the condom that Alex filched from his hand. He undid it, took a step toward him and grabbed Miles’ shaft, doing the job for him. Then he nudged him back into the couch, only to straddle him.

“Bossy,” remarked Miles, delighted.

“Yes,” agreed Alex. “Fuck me.” As the words hit Miles right in the balls, doing some wicked things there, Alex climbed on top of him. One more of those oxygen-stealing kisses.

Miles guided his erection to Alex’s hole and carefully pushed in. Both wailed and shivered and stared deeply into each other's eyes. Cupping Alex’s cheek gently, Miles wondered how he’d never noticed before how beautiful he was. Those tiny little freckles that hid in his complexion had a hold on him that he couldn’t shake and he strained to kiss his cheek, kiss the little dots. Then he kissed the tiny spots below his lip that Alex felt weirdly self-conscious about but Miles loved so very much.

What a different experience this was. Last time, they had been overwhelmed by the new and the rush and exhilaration of it all. They’d run towards the finish line, desperate to feel the ultimate release. Not now. Not this time. Alex moved languidly. Rolled his hips at a pace so torturous and insanely slow that Miles struggled to fill his lungs with enough air. They were kissing the whole time. Twisting their tongues in one moment. Ghosting their lips in the next. The moans got louder and a grin lit on Miles’ face as he kissed that rumbling noise straight off Alex’s lips. “Shh,” he hushed, “they’re out there.”

“Still partying,” panted Alex. He raised himself, only to slide down again. Faster this time.

Miles shuddered jerkily. When he did it again, Miles slipped. Groaned.

It was Alex’s turn to laugh. “Oh, we are loud, are we not?” He put his hand over Miles’ mouth. Leaned it. Bit his lobe. “What I would give to hear you scream my name.” His tempo picked up. The hand pressed down harder.

Miles clung to him, fiercely so. Their bodies were touching everywhere. Eyes shut, he tried calling Alex’s name, but his lover’s palm turned it into a garbled nonsense.

“Oh babe!” Alex rode him hard now. “Yes!” He tossed his head back and Miles reached up, curving one hand around the magnificent arch of his throat. Alex began to shake violently and it was on Miles to silence him, which he did with a kiss.

At the end, sweaty and spent, Miles sank against the back of the couch as Alex collapsed into his arms. They remained that way for a long while, just resting in place, not speaking nor moving nor craving a distance. Their damp bodies began to dry and eventually, it got uncomfortable. Alex shifted first, not fully, just enough to slide away and drop back onto the couch, stretching his legs out across Miles’ lap.

Miles laughed. He let his gaze wander over Alex. Was a vision he was, lying there, satisfied, grinning, and happy. One hand slid up his leg and Miles found himself unable to keep his distance even though there was no distance between them at all. “Scoot over. Make room for me.”

Alex rolled to his side and Miles wedged between him and the couch’s back. One arm curled and Alex adjusted, laid his head on top of it. His other hand, Alex lowered to Miles’ thigh, tugging his leg over his own. Anchoring them together.

“Nobody ever does that,” whispered Alex.

“What?” Miles couldn’t stop smiling at him.

“That…thing,” attempted Alex. “Don’t know why, but…Taylor, whoever really…they don’t kiss my neck. Or my cheek.” The tip of his nose bumped against Miles’.

Miles quickly leaned in for a little peck.

“That,” said Alex. “They all like when I do it. But it’s, like, they think I wouldn’t like it also. You’re different.”

“I know I like it when you do it. And I hope you like it when I do it.” He did it now. Brushed a stray curl from the side of his forehead and lightly kissed a path from his temple to the bone of his cheek. His fingertip trailed from the line of hair down, tracing the shell of his ear, then wandering on, ’til it rested below the tip of his chin. Miles tilted it to angle his head just right. Eyes fluttered close when their lips met and in no time at all they were lost once more in a kiss.

“I like it a lot,” confessed Alex, bringing their lips back together and demanding more of that kiss.

Miles was only too happy to grant him that wish. Lips aligned. “If you do,” said Miles, when he parted for air, “let me do it again.” And then he kissed him everywhere. His neck, his throat, that little spot below his lobe that always drew a small giggle from him. The hollow between his clavicle bones. Before long, Miles was on top of him and Alex pushed a condom into his hand. “No,” whispered Miles and rolled it down Alex’s shaft. “Sit up.”

Alex did. Back pressed to the rear of the couch, legs spread, he looked up at Miles, full of expectation.

Miles turned around, lowered himself down on Alex’s lap and as his back melted against Alex’s front, he adjusted, letting his lover’s hard cock slide right home. “Take my breath away, Top Gun.”

Sliding his hands around Miles’ stomach, Alex laughed into his ear. “Oh babe, I will!”

And he had. God, had he done that! Miles awoke a few hours later, still tightly snuggled into Alex’s arms, feeling like he’d spent the last hours drifting amongst white fluffy clouds. He felt better than he’d done in days. He was exhausted but in a splendid, glorious way.

Some of that went away when James tried opening the locked door. “Hey, you up?” He knocked, then. Hard. “We’ll stop at McDonalds in ten. Want anything?”

A low rumbling groan vibrated against his ear. “Tell ‘em to go away,” murmured Alex, wriggling deeper into Miles’ arms. “Wanna sleep.”

_Me, too,_ thought Miles. And rolled his eyes. “Dream’s over. Reality is back.”

“Reality sucks.” Alex refused to relinquish his hold on him.

Miles had to twist and turn to free himself. “Come on! We have to.” He didn’t like it either. But he also didn’t want to raise the suspicions of their bandmates. “You know it!” He sat up and reached for his sweats, spotting the two used condoms on the carpet. Something about that made him pause, but he couldn’t put his finger to it.

Behind him, Alex rolled on his back and stretched with a blissful purr. “What a night!”

“Oh yes.” Reaching around and slapping Alex’s stomach, Miles chuckled when Alex flew upright.

“Fuck, Miles!” The soft afterglow on Alex’s face fell from it like wet towel dropping to the ground with a thud. “You were much nicer last night,” he groveled.

“We were having sex last night.”

“We could be having sex now!”

“We definitely cannot have sex now.” He stared at him, at his face, more precisely. Alex was still naked and Miles desperately tried to ignore that. “We can’t do this again! We shouldn’t have done it in the first place!”

“’twas good,” Alex countered grumpily.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t!” Fuck, it was better than good! It was… Miles wasn’t sure there even was a word to adequately describe just how fucking good it had been! But that didn’t change the facts one bit! “Friends,” said Miles harshly. “That’s what we agreed to! Not this!”

“You kissed me,” snapped Alex.

“I. Know.”

“Fine, then! No sex! Jesus fucking Christ,” cursed Alex as he got up to put his sweats on. “Barely awake and already arguing.” A snort. “Quite the married couple, ey?”

Miles scoffed. He wiped the sleepiness from his face and got up. “Did you hear that we’re about to stop at McDonald’s? Want anything?”

“Coffee. Loads of it. And a chocolate donut.” Alex grabbed his notebook. “Headed for the shower. Two donuts! Oh, just buy a damn box.”

More eye-rolling from Miles. “How about a salad?”

“Bite me.”

“Already did that,” volleyed Miles.

Alex paused in front of the door, turned around, picked the condoms up and hid them in the empty bag of gummy bears that lay on the floor as well. Then he trashed both. He made his way back to the door.

Suddenly it registered. Miles raised his head, stared at him. “Al?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you have condoms in your pocket? You’re wearing sweatpants.”

Alex raised his shoulders, slowly turned his head and let the shrug roll. The tiniest, most suppressed smirk hid on his face but Miles could see it glow like the fucking biggest neon sign in a seedy, dark alley. “Lucky coincident.” He unlocked the door and slipped away.

As the door closed, Miles rose to his feet, still staring at the spot that Alex had just vacated. “Lucky coincident my ass!” He shook his head, stunned. Oh, he should have known! He should have caught on last night!

_‘Lock the door, will you?’_

Alex’s words echoed back in his head. Had he ever cared about anybody interrupting? No. Never! If somebody did interrupt him, friend or stranger, Alex was blunt like a bloody rusty ax and kicked him to the curb! There was not a single time that he’d ever asked Miles to lock a fucking door!

That wasn’t even the only thing that should have tipped him off! All those little touches. Now that he thought about it, it was so damn obvious! That light little dance that his fingers had performed against the inside his knee – Alex knew that Miles was sensitive there. He’d used that weakness before, years ago, when they had done tickle-fights. And Alex never forgot anything!

Oh, and that move, when he’d flung himself over Miles’ lap for some god-forsaken gummy bears!

The scent!

Miles was glaring at the door, now.

Why on earth would Alex put on a five-hundred-pound per bottle Eau de Parfum at night, in a stuffy hot bus, with no fucking girlfriend in sight?

Huh.

Well.

There was no denying it, was there? He’d been seduced. By Alex. Quite thoroughly so. Taking deep and calming breaths, struggling to come to terms with the idea that Alex was not a fair player but a selfish little gangster, Miles spotted the dirty fucker’s electric guitar on the couch nearby. He strode there, feeling awfully immature and petty at the moment, and gave one of the tuning pegs a solid turn or two. Or three. And then he did the same with the other five as well!

He fucking hoped Alex wouldn’t notice until tomorrow, on stage, when it was too late! With a huff, he grabbed his pillow, emerged from the room and made his way back to his bunk.

“We’re there,” announced James from the front.

“A minute.” Miles quickly grabbed jeans and a shirt. Then his sunglasses. He felt particularly hungover at the moment. Though, not from alcohol. At last, he grabbed his wallet and his phone. He wouldn’t bring Alex his donuts, either. Not the chocolate ones, anyway. He’d let him choke on vanilla! And on decaf-coffee! “Comin’!”


	3. Beg A Little

**London, two weeks ago**

_Taylor was splayed out on the bed, flipping through the latest edition of Vogue’s idea of what a woman should look like. Alex rolled his eyes at that as he tossed another pile of shirts into the giant suitcase. “Why are you reading this shit? You said that stuff sickens you.”_

“ _So?” She tugged a free perfume sample from the page in front of her. “Gotta know it, though. How am I supposed to make fun of current style dictation if I don’t know what that looks like?” Her fingers dabbed over the torn-open package and she sniffed at them. “Hm…musky. Like it?” She held her hand up for him._

_Alex breathed in. Scrunched his nose. “Bleh!” Grimaced. Coughed. “Oh God, that’s awful!”_

“ _Dramatic much? It’s Dior.”_

“ _So? That supposed to make it smell better? Dead fish smell better.” Especially when fried in butter. His stomach was roaring and he remembered that he’d forgotten to eat all day. “We got any?”_

“ _Dead fish?” Taylor stared blankly at him._

“ _Fish sticks,” he clarified._

_She rolled her eyes. “How should I know?”_

_How, indeed. She resumed reading the magazine and Alex took a spree through his bathroom. Shampoo, toothbrush, deodorant, what else was there? One arm carried everything, the other hand kept loading more. Comb, spare comb, his favorite Eau de Parfum. This one actually smelled enticing, thought Alex almost sourly. It was unique and rich in its scent. It left you guessing what’s inside without knocking you out with its sheer amount of cheap vanilla and whatnot. Those samples? If Miles were here, he'd have the time of his life making fun of them! Miles had a nose for a well-built Parfum. That guy knew how to smell good! He moved on. Hair gel, maybe a third comb, just in case. Condoms, the little tube of hand lotion…and where did Taylor hide her shit?_

“ _T? Where’s that hairspray of yours?”_

“ _Locked away. You always take it and I’m stuck with the frizz! Get your own!”_

_He was leaving in an hour! Where was he supposed to get it now? “Never mind.” He walked back into the bedroom, dropped all of the stuff into the big leather sponge bag he’d gotten from Miles for Christmas, and zipped it up._

“ _Hold on.” Taylor wedged a finger between the zipper, stopping his move. “What’s that? Why do you need a big box of condoms on the road?”_

_He quirked his brow, grinning. “Shall I grab a banana and demonstrate?”_

“ _Funny. Ha. Ha. I’m stuck in Paris for a job next week, then I’ll be in London for the other two. If and when we manage to meet in LA, there’ll be condoms there.”_

“ _What if you drop by unannounced?” He’d said it and it sounded logical, but somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that this wasn’t the reason he’d grabbed them. Even though he had trouble admitting to himself what his real reason was._

“ _I’ll bring them, then.” She took the box out._

“ _T, don’t be ridiculous.” He pulled the bag from her fingers, grabbed the box, and put it back in, making it obvious that this was not an issue he planned on discussing. Then he leaned down, kissed the top of her head, and smiled while zipping the bag up. “There’s no other woman.”_

“ _I’d be more reassured if you left the condoms.”_

“ _Try that one,” he said, pointing to another sample scent in the magazine. “Are you serious about the hairspray?”_

“ _Yes.”_

“ _I’ll have to leave early, then.”_

**Chicago, Now**

He was out to kill him. Of that, Alex no longer had any doubt! Miles Fucking Kane had it out for him in the most insane, most inane, most unfair of ways.

He came after him in tiny, fearsome, invisible steps.

It had started out innocently enough! The night after he’d teased Miles into some much-needed sex on the tour bus, a move that admittedly had been a bit selfish, but – again – Alex had needed it, Miles had begun acting strange. He’d tried to poison him with decaf and vanilla. Ten or more years of friendship. Alex would have thought that, by now, Miles knew that Alex reacted vilely to both. Allergic, almost.

But, he was a fair person and willing to concede that the night had been satisfying _yet_ greatly exhausting. Maybe, Miles had misspoken at the counter. Maybe he’d been half-asleep! Alex was more than forgiving, in his opinion. Everyone made mistakes. He could see past that! No need to end a good friendship over a bit of decaf.

If things had remained at that, Alex would have moved on. Never wasted another thought on it. The odd occurrences, however, kept piling up. An endless list of evidence, exhibit after exhibit, amassed and he was forced to accept that his angelic and gentle friend, his kind and sweet Miles, had a vicious dark side.

As it turned out, the suicidal fucker had bloody messed with his favorite electric guitar!

And that, Alex couldn’t forgive.

He’d only discovered by sheer accident. God forbid he hadn’t! What if he had taken the stage that night?! Then what? That was the very reason he always, _always_ insisted on a solid soundcheck ahead of a show. He’d walked up to his guitar, he’d spotted the tuning pecks were not in their usual position and as he’d allowed his eagle eyes to roam the stage and take inventory of the all the stage hands that might have ruined the perfect tune of his instrument, he’d spotted his favorite friend hovering by the string quartet, pretending to joke around, while masking a smirk so freakishly subtle that Alex was tempted to think he’d imagined it.

But he hadn’t.

He’d grabbed his guitar, he’d strummed a chord, and the remarkably awful sounds of a miserably modified guitar filled the air.

Confirmation.

“Bloody hell,” he’d grumbled. “Miles, did you do it? Why the fuck would you…” He’d been speechless. His best friend. His wonderful and lovely Miles!

Miles had raised his shoulder slowly, mockingly, innocently and he’d grinned so bloody arrogantly that Alex had been on the cusp of stomping over and…well, never mind.

Alex had let them do the last of the soundcheck while he’d exited to do some tuning.

If only the day had ended after that.

They’d assembled for lunch later that day. Miles had wanted to make up for his unforgivable lapse in judgment – at least, Alex had wrongly assumed so – and had saved him a seat next to him at the large table inside a very crowded restaurant.

“You fucked with my guitar,” he’d reminded him, lest he forgot it. “I expect a grand gesture in return. Something that lets me know you’re very sorry about that!”

“I do feel awful,” Miles had said, all pretense and no genuine guilt. He’d slipped his hand beneath the table and given his thigh a tender squeeze. Then he’d leaned over, whispering, “I’d like to make up for it. Tell me how.” To top it off, he’d fucking licked his lobe in front of two dozen people, who all – luckily – had not paid attention!

Else they might have seen Alex succumbing to some serious shivers. Damned Miles and his wicked tongue! Even Alex's eyes had bloody fluttered like a butterfly on speed!

“Later,” Alex had quickly brushed him off. They had been amongst people! This kind of thing one discussed in private! And, possibly, naked.

Later, in this case, was commonly referred to as _hell_.

On stage, Miles had kept up his phony act of being a nice gentleman, a true professional. He’d lured Alex in, he’d given him the false impression of being safe and at a welcome place. In reality, Miles had fucking gotten off on messing with his head. He’d teased the last bits of sanity out of him that night. He’d dragged his teeth along Alex’s jaw, he’d brushed his lips against his cheek, he’d winked and smiled and smoldered at him and when, at long last, Alex had eventually cracked and allowed for him to do what he’d seemed so bloody desperate to do, which was kissing him, Miles – mean man that he turned out to be – had merrily turned away.

So, at the end of the show, after taking the final bow, Alex had curled his arm around Miles’ neck, he’d anchored him in place, and he’d leaned in while walking off, still smiling for the last of the camera phones. “What the bloody fucking hell was that, huh?”

Forever the blameless, Miles had smiled all virtuous and guiltless. He’d not even tried to escape the death grip that Alex had had on him. He’d snuggled into it! “What are you talking about?”

What, indeed.

And now, here he was, in a fancy and sleek hotel bar in Chicago, standing in a circle with a bunch of people, most of whom he hardly knew, chatting randomly and getting drunk. They’d all wound up here after the concert, neither one ready to hit the sheets, all in need of some liquor, and a chance to unwind.

Miles, naturally, stood next to him. His hand lingered on the small of Alex’s back, fingertips dancing idly around. He was in the midst of a discussion about some cover with somebody whose name Alex ought to know, since he’d been introduced to the guy before and he’d talked with him, too, but Alex only drew blanks and avoided addressing him directly.

“Getting ‘nother one,” Alex told Miles, leaning over to let him know. “Want anything?”

Miles shook his head and resumed his talk, but he didn’t let go of Alex’s back. Instead of withdrawing his hand, or even letting it slip away, he moved it leisurely down the curve of Alex’s ass, trailing his fingers there, until Alex was too far away for the tormenting touch to continue. He wedged between two customers at the bar, shamelessly dropping a big fat dollar note onto the counter to let the barkeeper know he’d appreciate preferential treatment. He immediately received his desired drink.

From behind him, a hand snaked its way over his shoulder, past his neck, then down ‘til it reached the drink. Fingers curled around the glass. A pair of lips ghosted over his ear. “Thanks babe!”

Gone he was.

Alex closed his eyes, pulled out yet another big note of cash, and repeated the act. Second drink in hand, he ignored the disdainful looks of the customers that had come before him and still waited for service to be rendered and made his way back to the group. He didn’t want to, and he couldn’t explain why, but he stepped right back into his spot next to Miles, who enjoyed sipping on that very expensive drink that he’d filched from him a mere moment ago.

Miles was, as always, talking to somebody. But Alex ignored it. Tilting his head, bringing his mouth to his ear, he had to know. “What game are you playing? Is this your attempt at seducing me?”

“Would I have to?” Miles gave up on his chat with whoever and met Alex’s eyes squarely. “You were easy the other night.”

Was that an insult? Alex blinked. Damnit, that liquor was pulling a number on his thoughts! “What does that mean?”

Bundling all of his attention on him, as if burning away every last remnant of self-control that Alex had left with a Bond-villain kind of laser beam, Miles flung one arm around his neck and pulled him in, bringing their foreheads into touching distance. He was whispering, now. “There’s a room upstairs. Let’s use it.”

He was drunk. He was mad at him. He was tired. Pissed off, probably. But so very eager to get his hands on him. “Okay.”

A snort from Miles, who abruptly let go. “That’s what I mean. I don’t have to seduce you. I just have to decide that I want you. And right now, I don’t. You played me, Alex!”

“So?” Where was the fucking problem? The sex had been good, hadn’t it? “You got two mind-blowing orgasms from it and I got a fucked-up guitar in exchange. I’d say I drew the short straw!”

Miles’ eyes hardened. Alex must have said something bad. But in his current state of drunken stupor, he couldn’t figure out what that bad thing had been. “It’s a good thing we’re at a hotel tonight. Means I don’t have to face you for a while. Night, Al.” With that, he walked away, leaving Alex befuddled and beyond irritated.

-

They had played Lollapalooza in Chicago. They had done some strange interviews. They had gotten drunk, they had partied, and they had joked around. From an outside perspective, it appeared as if Alex and Miles were still the best of friends who every now and then dabbled with the idea of a bit of gay. At least, if the interviews were any indication.

Now, back on the bus, vaguely tired and ready for some quiet time, Alex lounged in the back of the large vehicle. Barefoot, wearing shirt and jeans, he was sprawled out on the very sofa that he’d fucked Miles on and as the memories of it warmed his already overheating skin, he grabbed his bottle of water and took a healthy swig.

“There you are.” Miles slipped inside and quickly closed the door after him.

When he locked it, Alex raised his brow derisively. “Bring any condoms?”

“Bite me.”

“Roles reversed, huh?” He rolled his eyes. “What’s it that makes you lock us into this little room?”

“Fear.” Miles leaned his back against the door and closed his eyes, sighing heavily. “There’s a game of _‘Truth Or Dare’_ going on in the kitchen. James is trailblazing towards idiocy and Zack is doing his hardest to catch up! I really don’t need to know what fucked up shit those two have done in their youth! And trust me, there’s plenty!”

“Who are they playing with?”

“Remember that groupie they picked up in Chicago? She and her friend are hitch-hiking for a bit.”

Oh God! Alex grunted heavily. “We made a deal. No strangers on the bus!”

“What’cha telling me for?” Miles tossed a full pack of cigarettes at him. “Move over.”

“There’s a second couch across the room,” noted Alex, not giving an inch. 

Miles looked at him as he plopped down, wedged between the armrest and Alex. “And?”

“Whatever.”

“I know why I’m pissed at you,” grumbled Miles. “Why are you pissed at me?”

“Cause you’re pissed at me,” countered Alex. Wasn't it self-explanatory?

“Aaah,” drawled Miles.

They were stuck here, for better or for worse, which meant Miles couldn't escape some probing questions. It appeared to Alex that an opportunity had presented itself. “Let's have a chat, you and I. Yes, I wanted to fuck you,” he conceded the obvious. “And I did. I don’t regret it. I didn’t force myself on you. You wanted it, too! Why the fuck are you mad at me about it?”

“Because,” thundered Miles, “instead of being straight about it, you used perfume and gummy bears!”

“You told me we’re friends and that sex will ruin it. If I had come to you and told you I wanted your ass, you'd have accused me of ruining our friendship! I got creative. Get over it. Like I said, you had a choice!”

“I’m surprised you don’t regret it.” Miles flung his arm over the back of the sofa to stretch out, doing his mightiest not to meet his eyes! “After all, you pulled the short straw, right?”

“What?”

“You said it. At the bar, the other night!”

He’d said _that_? Alex winced hard. No wonder Miles was mad at him. He slapped his palm to his forehead and groaned. “I was drunk when that came out. I didn’t mean it. Shit, Miles, you know I didn’t mean that, right?” God, he didn't even remember it! “Come on!” He nudged his shoulder. He wanted to look at his face. Only then could he tell if Miles had accepted his apology.

“I’d like to think that the sounds you made were not fake,” muttered Miles, relenting. Slowly, he turned Alex's way.

Alex watched him with razor-sharp focus, deciphering his mood and his word’s meanings. He spotted a bit of a grin hiding in the corners of his well-guarded eyes and he instantly loosened up. The time for atoning was over. The time for banter had arrived. “Not all of ‘em,” he quipped. “Some were real.”

“The better ones, I hope.”

“There were bad ones?”

Miles was smirking, now. A real, wicked one. Alex replied with a sly grin of his own. He moved around on the couch, threw his legs up and over Miles’ lap as he reclined back, crossing his arms beneath his head. “Do you really think I read Vogue?”

The smirk became a laugh. “Those questions stuck with you, huh?”

“They certainly weren’t the usual, boring ones we normally get. The ‘explain the title’ or ‘what’s your favorite song’ kind of nonsense. Vogue, Miles?”

“Taylor said she caught you reading it.”

“I might have flipped through it at some point. I definitely wouldn’t do it in public!” And he sure wouldn’t do it again at home, when she was around! “I only looked at the pictures!”

“Yeah. Just like you buy Playboy for the pictures,” snorted Miles, wildly amused.

Alex moved his leg, to bump his knee against Miles’ stomach. The latter caught it and held onto it. “Remind me to get you a subscription for Valentine’s Day!”

“Please do! Any kind of gift is appreciated on that day.” He stuck out his tongue. “Although, long-stemmed red roses are preferred. And maybe something a little romantic, too. Chocolate.”

“Vanilla?”

“Dare that again! Almost killed me with that!”

“Tsk, so dramatic!”

Closing his eyes, Alex snuggled deeper into the couch. Now that he and Miles were back to being their usual selves, he felt much better and the laid-back atmosphere that he'd missed so strongly returned. He didn’t like it when there was weird tension between them. It messed with his head and ruined the good times he knew they could be having instead.

He felt Miles’ hands as they moved to the inside of his thigh and he briefly wondered, with mildly raised hope, if his friend was testing the waters of a certain kind, but quickly realized that he was substituting his legs for a piano. He tried making out the notes when Miles’ fingertips traipsed up and down, but without a set frame, he was out of chances. “Play it again. Tell me the first note, so I’ll know what keys you’re hitting.”

“B flat in F minor,” said Miles, before sending his fingertips off to hit the invisible keys on Alex’s leg. He was humming along, making it easier for Alex to catch on. “Got this melody in my head. Never goes anywhere. But I can’t shake it.”

“Words, too?”

“No. Just this idea of something. It’s probably nothing.”

Alex disagreed. Whenever Miles said he got nothing, it ended up being a great something in the end. “Keep going. Let me get a feel for it.” With his eyes closed, he envisioned sitting at home in his studio, watching Miles playing the keys that he imagined pressing just now. Since it was his personal and private imagination, Miles may or may not have been naked. “Have you tried slowing it down?”

“I’ve done slow and fast, upside down and right to left.” Soft chuckles filled the air. “It’s this melody. It always ends up being this melody. I just don’t know where to take it and how to make it grow.”

“You’ll get there.” A very specific part of him was already growing. Alex reached blindly for Miles’ right hand and covered it with his own, making him move further up his inner thigh. “Know what would sound good? If you play a G7 chord now,” he said.

“Why?”

Miles’ grin was almost audible. Alex knew it was there without looking. “’Cause that spot is dying for some attention.”

“Leave it to you to turn make-believe piano keys into sex toys!” He pushed his fingertips down into the soft flesh of his leg.

“Everyone’s got to have a talent for something, right?” His teeth sank into his lower lip. Shit, that felt good! “Play more of that…mmmh!”

Miles abandoned his melody for something sultrier. He gripped the thigh firmly, for just a second, teasingly, only to roam higher up, dragging his thumb over sensitive territory and by that drawing a throaty moan out into the open. Amazing as it felt, however, Miles was playing coy with his ministrations! “Come on,” grumbled Alex. “I want more than your thumb!”

“You do? What more?”

“Hands, damnit! Do you really need me to explain what I want you to do?” Sexual frustration made him short-tempered. “Please, Miles!”

The side of Miles’ hand slid against the growing bulge in Alex’s pants and he shuddered at the contact. Only to growl in protest when Miles withdrew his hands entirely. “I don’t have any condoms on me,” he explained. “And maybe we should try to keep this platonic!”

He let out a desolate and petulant cry. “For fuck’s sake!” It was motherfucking lunatic! Not only was he dying to get his hands on an actual set of keys, now, since Miles’ little melody had him all sorts of inspired, he was also very, _very_ aroused. And there wasn’t a damned fuck on the horizon! “How about a strictly platonic blow-job? From friend to friend.”

Roaring laughter burst from Miles. “Oho, you need it badly, huh?”

“Yes,” muttered Alex, only to bite, “Don’t act like you don’t! I can feel your cock against my leg!” He gave it a nudge with his knee, to express his unhappiness and make Miles regret being flippant about it.

Miles grumbled some nasty things under his breath. “Bloody stop it!”

Alex did not.

Grabbing his legs, Miles shoved 'em off his lap. “Happy now?”

“Oh yes!” He let his sarcasm get the better of him. “Here we are, both hard, both willing – well, one of us, anyway – and both frustrated since _somebody_ doesn't know what 'friends with benefits' stands for!”

“Call your girlfriend,” snarled Miles.

“She's fucking stuck in Europe!” And she wasn't the one he wanted to fuck right now! Making no effort whatsoever to hide his displeasure, he grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, sporting a scowl for good measure. “Tell me what you want to watch. That way I'll know what _not_ to look for.”

“Oh, very mature, Alex. Punish yourself with bad shit to get back at me!”

Alex replied with a grunt.

Miles was sprawled on the other couch. He’d gotten fed up with what Alex considered justifiable bad mood and had moved there roughly half an hour ago. Somewhere between the ending of an old _The Simpsons_ episode and the beginning of _Finding Prince Charming_.

It had taken Alex embarrassingly long to get that this show was the gay version of _The Bachelor_ and he’d only caught on after Miles had burst out in laughter at his flippant remark about a lack of women. To be fair, he’d barely paid attention to begin with! However, he was paying attention now. Sitting cross-legged and watching in awe, he was marveling at this piece of stellar entertainment. “This show is educational,” gushed Alex. “I mean, look at it. The production is insane. There’s not a planet in the universe that is rewarded with that kind of sunset. Do you have any idea how fucking much work they must put into post-production to achieve those images?” It did his head in! But what a difference that made in overall impressions! Thanks to the fantastic, almost jaw-dropping scenery shots, one completely ignored, even forgave, the disturbing relationships that unraveled in front of the camera!

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” muttered Miles, rolling his eyes, “there’s a fan!”

Alex ignored that entirely. “You’re missing out on something great. Although it’s a bit like watching a traffic pileup, I must admit. A psychologist or two would do wonders,” he speculated absentmindedly.

“Pileup?” Miles scoffed hard. “Deadly car crash, don’t you mean? Fucking look at it, Al! That dark-haired wannabe Elvis and the man-bun wearing how-not-to-Botox guy are this close to throwing punches. All for a supposed _prince charming_ that not only can’t remember half the names of the candidates, he’s also too busy checking out guy serving drinks!”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” conceded Alex. “I’m just pointing out that this show is amazing. It’s insane and twisted and wildly—”

“Fucked up,” supplied Miles. “Besides,” he added, sounding oddly disappointed, “the candidates don’t even look good!”

And just like that, Alex lost all interest in the show. Swiveling around, staring wide-eyed at Miles, he asked – to make sure he understood him properly, “Look good as in look _attractive_?”

Still watching the show, he shrugged. “Not one guy. Like, not even a little, which is remarkable if you think about it. They’re supposed to be hot and—” His eyes landed on Alex. Miles frowned. “What?”

“What’s _attractive_ in your opinion?” Alex crossed his arms as he tried reading his thoughts, which at the moment was downright impossible! “Like, muscles and tan?”

The oddest look landed on Miles’ face. “Well, dark hair seems to be doing it for me,” he quipped. “Golden skin. Flaring temper,” he added slyly.

“I happen to have dark hair and golden skin, thanks to all the hotel pools! I wouldn’t know about the temper,” he remarked dryly. “I’m likable and easy to be around, I’ve been told.”

“By people who want something from you,” countered Miles.

“Clearly, you don’t!”

An eye-roll from Miles.

Alex scoffed again. He turned his attention back to the tv and pulled his nose up in offense. “Ugh, look at that! It’s so obvious that _prince charming_ has no interest in _man-bun guy_ and still, the guy is pathetically throwing himself at him! Who’d do something like that? Whatever happened to self-respect, huh? Like how needy can you be? Bloody ridiculous…”

_Needy_.

People could be very, _very_ needy.

Alex tossed and turned in his bunk. An hour ago, shortly after midnight, Zack and James had said ‘goodbye’ to the groupies at a motel halfway to wherever the fuck it was they were headed and quickly after that, Miles had departed that hot and stuffy, self-imposed prison of theirs and gone to bed.

He’d followed suit.

Things still weren’t right between them, but he couldn’t pinpoint what was actually wrong. They were joking and ribbing each other in one moment, but one random remark and they were back to biting and barking. If only those random remarks had anything in common! Alex had gone over all the ones that he could remember, trying to find a running theme or anything linking them together.

Nothing!

It was troublesome, to be honest.

It made it impossible to know what to look out for in order to avoid more tiffs. With a frustrated huff, Alex punched a fist into his pillow, in an attempt to fluff it up. It was useless. His head was too full of thoughts and— “What the—”

“Be quiet,” hissed a sleepy Miles as he climbed into Alex’s little corner of the bus. One hand went to his hip, to the bare skin just above the briefs that he was wearing. Miles shoved him. “Make some room, will ya?”

“Broke your own bed or what?”

“Speak quietly,” warned Miles again, none louder than a sharp cutting whisper. “Want somebody to hear?”

“There’d be nothing to hear,” snarled Alex, albeit very silently, “if you got back to your own bed!”

“There’s a spider in there! Can’t find it now, in the dark. I’m sleeping here.”

“Since when are you scared of spiders?”

“Not scared,” defended Miles. “Doesn’t mean I want to share a bed with them!”

“Sleep in the back, then. On the damn couch. It’s fucking hot and the bunks are small as it is!”

“The leather sticks to my skin. Suck it up!” Miles nudged him further into the bunk. “And share your pillow.”

“Stop pushing me to the back,” groused Alex. “You know I hate being cornered. You want to sleep here, you sleep against the wall.”

“How am I supposed to get there, Alex?”

“Climb over! Do it or get out.”

Grumbling, as discreetly as he could, Miles flung one leg over Alex, but instead of lifting himself up on his knees, bloody fucker slid over him, rubbing all of his body against Alex’s as he did so. They touched everywhere. Legs, stomach, chest, arms, shoulders, feet, and – how else could it be – dicks. “Fucking move,” sniped Alex, feeling himself getting hard from just the barest bit of contact.

Miles rolled off him, on the other side, against the wall. On his side, he gave Alex’s pillow a hard tug and put his head right next to his.

Steadfastly remaining on his back, as far removed from Miles without dropping out of the bloody bunk, Alex tilted his head to sneak a peek at him. “Your breath smells like sugar.”

“Had some twizzlers.”

“Sugar junkie.”

“Chocolate addict!”

“Go to sleep,” ordered Alex.

“I’m not comfortable, yet. I usually sleep on my other side.”

“Do it, then!”

“Your pillow isn’t big enough for that.”

“Could have brought your own!”

“Spider. Duh!”

“Fucking go to sleep, Mi!”

Miles shifted again. He drew his leg up, pressed his thigh against Alex’s, and curled his arm over his stomach. “Better.”

“I don’t believe this,” murmured Alex, cursing under his breath. “Fucking snuggling in this heat…” When Miles’ knee brushed his penis, Alex jolted.

Miles groaned in disapproval. “Damnit, will you lay still?”

“Don’t touch the junk, then!”

“Accident,” barked Miles into Alex’s ear.

The hot breath made him break out in sweat. He wouldn’t get a second of sleep tonight. Of that, he was sure! 

Alex woke up to the most incredible sensations. Soft, warm lips were kissing his neck, moving slowly around, from his jawbone, up to his ear, down his neck, briefly detouring over his shoulders, only to reroute towards his throat.

His hand flew up, he drove his fingers into the very short strands of hair that he distantly recognized as Miles’ and he arched against him, moaning loudly. “Keep going…”

The lips went away.

Alex opened his eyes. Hovering over him was Miles. The bunk was shrouded in darkness. Little rays of light drifted in, through the curtain, but it was barely enough to make out his face. Miles was blinking. Sleep clung to his face. “What’s going on? Alex? Why are you my bed?”

“You’re in mine,” he hissed, tired and frustrated all over again. “And fucking be quiet. Somebody might be awake already.

His face twisted and contorted and before long, Miles dropped his head back into the curve of Alex’s shoulder, nestling fully into against his body. “Wanna sleep some more.”

This was a never-ending nightmare! He froze when he heard sounds. Somebody opened the door that led from the bunks to the kitchen and lounge area. “Turner, Kane, you awake yet? Anyway. We’re all headed for coffee. We’ve stopped at a waffle house. Want anything?”

“Waffles,” whispered Miles.

“Coffee!” announced Alex.

Miles pinched his inner thigh, right there where his briefs ended, and his skin was bare. How had Miles’ fingers found that spot so fast? He pinched again. Alex winced. “And waffles!”

“Kane, what about you?”

“Think he’s still sleeping,” said Alex. “Bring more coffee. He’ll be fine!”

“Okay. Later!”

“Yes,” muttered Alex, waited for the door to close, then ripped the curtain open wide.

A hand flew up and Miles shielded his face. “Argh! Fucking rude, Alex! The sun’s up!”

“Time to get up, then! Let go of me!” He wrestled free, or tried to, but Miles’ grip on him was vicious! “Mi, come on!”

“You’re warm. Stay in bed,” he mumbled.

“I’m fucking hot,” groused Alex.

Chuckles escaped Miles. “That’s true.”

“Hot as in _this_ close to melting!” He wasn’t even in a condition to flirt!

“Fine,” relented Miles, digging his fingers into Alex’s waist and anchoring him to the bed. “I’ll get up, then.” Just as he’d done last night, he crawled back on top of him, bringing his whole body into contact with his. Only this time, Miles was sporting a boner the size of a damned baseball bat.

Biting his lip so hard that the was sure to draw blood, Alex squeezed his eyes tightly shut and counted the milliseconds as they ticked by in slow motion. _Don’t touch him_ , he repeatedly warned himself. _He’s dangerous! A menace!_

But it was futile. Not because Alex couldn’t control himself. No, it was a lost battle since Miles gave him no other choice than to put his hands on him.

“Wait, is my phone still there?” Miles stopped mid-move, coming to rest on Alex, all but straddling him. His erection pressed against Alex’s strikingly awake morning wood and as Alex’s hands went to Miles’ hips, trying to shove him off of him, Miles bent back to the spot he’d crawled from. “My phone, Al!”

“You didn’t bring it!”

“Oh.” With a pace so fucking languid that Alex was losing his goddamned mind, Miles finally slid off him and out of his bunk.

As soon as he was gone, Alex brought his pillow to his face, pressed down and screamed into it.

“Have you lost it?” asked Miles, staring worriedly at him.

Tossing the pillow, the fine, soft, fluffy pillow, that now reeked of Miles and neck kisses, across the bunk, Alex met his eyes with a glare as sharp as broken glass. “Fucking get out of my sight! I need a moment. Hear me? One moment of solitude!”

“And maybe some chill pills,” muttered Miles, walking off toward the bathroom. A minute later, he was back. He rummaged through his own bunk, then the one beneath. Both of them had two. One to sleep and one to store some of their stuff in. Grabbing a towel and his sponge back, Miles straightened up, dropped his briefs and stuffed them into his laundry bag. Butt naked, he bent over, fished through his pile of clean clothes, and emerged, holding a fresh pair. “Takin’ a shower.”

Eyes wandered from Miles’ short, yet remarkably tousled hair, down his carved chest, on to the fine abs that Alex loved licking and kissing so much, only to settle on that piece of magnificent male arousal.

Alex was done for.

Quickly jumping out of his bunk, he clutched Miles’ shoulder, spun him around and pushed him up against the side of the bunks, taking his lips in a kiss that was hard and rough and unrestrained.

Miles tore his mouth away. “No, Alex, no!”

“I need it, Miles. I need you!” Alex was whining. He was begging for sex. He’d never done that in his life and never imagined he’d end up doing that. It was pathetic and sad and ridiculous and laughable and as he latched his mouth to Miles’ neck, sucking hard and deliberately leaving a mark for the world to see, he slipped his hand between their bodies and curled it around Miles’ hard cock. “You want me. I know you do. Have me, then. I’m yours. Pleee-ease!”

"But—”

“No but,” objected Alex. “Fuck, Miles. That's what I want.” His pace increased and he smiled in a small victory when Miles' eyes began to flutter. He was on the breaking point, then. “The things I would do for it, Mi… I'd do anything for an orgasm right now. That's how desperate I am! I'm begging you—”

Suddenly, Alex felt himself spun around and lifted off the ground. His back collided with the side of the bunks as Miles plunged his tongue deep into his mouth for a ravaging kiss that left him breathless and dizzy. “Hurry, then! We don't have much time!”

Alex was on the verge of crying. He'd get sex! He and Miles would fuck! Digging his nails into Miles' skin, holding onto him for dear life, he let out a loud growl when Miles' hard shaft rubbed against his own.

“Hold on to the bunk,” ordered Miles.

Alex did. His teeth dragged over his bottom lip. He was feverish. He was tingling everywhere. Neither God nor Lennon would be able to stop him right now! As he gripped the bunks on one side while propping his feet against the bunk across from him, hanging in the air and watching in utter fascination as Miles pulled the briefs off his legs, Alex sighed in bliss. Until he saw Miles slipping his hand into the little slit between his mattress and the wooden plank of his bunk, to pull out a condom.

He was fucking out of it, high on arousal and woozy from Miles’ kisses, so it took a moment to speak out loud what he’d abstractly realized in his mind. “Did you hide a condom in my bunk?”

Miles slid his hand underneath him, gave his ass a good squeeze, and grinned as he kissed the gasp straight from Alex’s lips. “I like being prepared.” His tongue slipped inside his mouth and the things it did there?

God, the guy could kiss!

_Wait_.

“Prepared for what?”

“You’d beg eventually,” whispered Miles, kissing him again and again. He was beginning to lose his mind. The bloody hell was happening right now? His arms started to give in, and it was on Miles to keep him up, which he did. “Are you ready?”

He was. He nodded. Shit, he'd been ready last night!

Miles’ eager hard-on pushed in and for now, Alex refused to care for condoms, begs, or all those questions that suddenly arrived in his head. Right now, there was just sex. Good, old fucking. Raw and hard and vigorous. Miles was pounding into him, over and over, hard and fast, and as their tongues knotted and twirled and danced, he drifted off into the wonderful world of pleasure where every little touch equaled the sensations of discovering an entire universe. “Fuck, yes!”

“Oh babe,” rasped Miles, straight into Alex’s ear and by that, sending shivers all over his body, “You feel so fucking good!”

He wanted to howl in victory! Yes, sex between them was fucking incredible! He’d been telling him all along! They could have had so much of it by now, if only Miles stopped playing so bloody hard to get! “Take me, Mi. Take me hard!”

“So fucking good,” moaned Miles.

They spun around again. Miles lowered him, carefully put him down onto the bottom bed, on top of his piles of clothes and towels and whatnot. Laughing, Alex reached aimlessly for something to hold on to as Miles fucked the last bits of consciousness right out of him. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Arghhh!”

It was then that Alex decided, no matter how often or not they’d fuck down the road, they’d definitely take this little affair of theirs to L.A., where Alex had every intention of having him inside of his house, behind concrete walls, to make him cum so fucking hard that the damned floors would shake underneath them. He wanted him to scream out for him. He wanted to shout Miles’ name as they flew apart and he wanted to hear Miles do the same. “Fuck, yes!” Alex shuddered and shook as release knocked him over.

Breathless and sweaty and grinning like an idiot, he lay there, amongst the clutter of Miles’ belongings. “Do you have even the slightest idea how fucking badly I needed that? I’m not even ashamed to admit it!” His damp head rolled to the side, heavy that it felt, and his dreamy eyes glanced aimlessly around.

Laughter bubbled from him when he spotted a big box of Trojan condoms. The laughter died immediately as his fingers tightened around them. “You little fucker!” The words were out and only then did he turn to meet Miles’ wide gaze. There was a smugness to his expression that was staggering, and he’d have attributed it to the stellar fuck they’d just had. Miles could be proud of that! It had been a hell of a ride! But there was something else lurking in the darkness of his eyes.

Triumph.

“You brought condoms, too!” Which meant, sex had been on his mind as well!

Miles shrugged as he slipped from between his legs. “So?”

“So?” Alex sat up. “So?!”

“So?” asked Miles nonchalantly.

“SO,” roared Alex, “you fucking prick! You let me think I was the only one who wanted it again!” Something occurred to him. Oh, things were beginning to make sense now! All that teasing and the smiles and the smolders. The bloody rubbing against him! Sleeping in the same bunk? A fucking spider?! “Did you trick me?”

“Into sex?” Laughter. “Don’t be ridiculous, Al.” He grabbed his towel and his sponge bag. “You begged me for it.”

The words. He’d uttered them earlier.

_‘You’d beg eventually,’_ he’d said

Blood was pulsating through his veins for an entirely different reason now. He was furious! Miles had made him plead for a bit of fucking. He’d made him come at him like a sex-starved, desperate, pathetic hoe. Like…like one of those fucking _Prince Charming_ candidates! “You made me _beg_ ,” accused Alex harshly. 

“You fucking bet I did,” stated Miles, flashing a winning smile and showing no signs of guilt. “Tit for tat.” He winked.

Alex dropped his jaw.

Miles leaned in, put a finger underneath his chin and kissed his frozen lips quickly. “Guys will be back soon. You should get dressed. Unless you’d like to join me in the shower…”

“Oh, we’re done with this,” declared Alex, shoving against his shoulder. “Fuck yourself, mate. You played me!”

“Real good,” admitted Miles, chuckling. “I played you really good! No shower, then? Well.” He sauntered off. “Here I was, willing to drop my bar of soap for you. Your loss.”

“Fuck. You!”

He was so going to pay for that one! Alex picked up his briefs, put them on and walked out into the kitchen. He took the used condom, wrapped it into a paper towel and quickly discarded it. Then he washed his hands in the sink, pulled the fridge door open, and immediately reached for the last one of Miles’ fancy high-protein puddings that came with less sugar and even less taste. He ate it stubbornly.

He’d really done it, hadn’t he? Miles Fucking Kane had gone and entered the dark side.

He’d regret it soon enough!

Soon, indeed.

  
  
  



	4. The Long Way Home

**_ Miles _ **

Sometimes, life was weird. It was a million other things as well. Good things, bad things, exciting things, boring things. But mainly, it was just weird. It was the simplest of knots. You look at it. You spot the problem. You figure out the solution. You set out. You fail. Because knots were weird, too. You know what you have to do to undo them, but try as you might, they refuse to come loose. A knot was one of the great mysteries of life. They were a thing of their own. An abnormality. They didn’t abide to the simple rules of life. They were strange.

And mean. And annoying. And fucked up!

Miles grunted loudly as he gave up on the shoelace, grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the damn knot out. “Bloody hell!”

The last week had left its mark on him. It had eaten away at his composure. It had nibbled on his sanity. It had feasted on his nerves. And it had sunk its sharp, blood-thirsty teeth into his skin, leaving him with a lingering pain that refused to subside and a wound that was far from healing.

Things between him and Alex were awful. There was no different way to say it. Since having fucked on the bus – that, too, couldn’t be expressed in a nicer way, for it had been a fuck and nothing more – their relationship had soured. What once had been a friendship full of banter, jokes, and laughs, one filled with deep and honest conversations, shared feelings and matching concerns, was now one of awkward silences, helpless looks and shaky talks.

It was as much his fault as it was Alex’s.

After finding out that Alex had more or less tricked him into sex, he’d been determined to make him regret it. It had fogged his head and made him lose sight of things. It had made him run blindly into a stupid idea and what for? Victory? No. There was no win. He’d risked their friendship in exchange for a bit of an ego-boost.

What fucked up plan had that been, huh? Miles grumbled and groaned as he sat on the edge of the bed, tired and desperate for sleep, yet incapable of coming to rest. He wanted to talk to Alex, he was dying to clear the air, but how was he supposed to do it? Straight up, he assumed. Only, it sounded easier than it was done. There was the issue of finding a proper moment for it. Currently in New York, a day away from their gig, their respective girlfriends had flown in for a surprise visit.

He supposed he should be happy about it. He wasn’t. They were a distraction. A nuisance, almost. And he felt horrible for thinking that way. Taylor and Hannah had done them a favor, so why couldn’t he find it in him to thank them for it? Well, he had thanked them. He’d acted delightfully surprised; the same way Alex had done. But just as Alex’s, Miles’ elation had been hollow. An act of pretense. An empty smile.

With them around, it was almost impossible to catch Alex alone.

And when he did manage to steal a private minute with him, away from everyone and everything, he ended up tongue-tied and stuttering. Apologizing for the kind of thing he’d done was a hard job. Not the simple step of admitting wrongdoing. That was the easiest part. It was the one after that, the _explaining-why-he’d-done-it_ part that he struggled with, for that one required raw honesty.

He’d be forced to admit that he’d felt hurt. He’d have to confess that he had all those conflicting emotions that made him do stupid things. He’d have to concede that it wasn’t quite so easy to be _just_ his friend after he’d glimpsed at something more.

Kicking off his other shoe, not bothering to untie that one, Miles let out another growl.

Hannah, sleeping next to him, or at least trying to, protested. “What’s wrong? Want to talk or—”

“No.” He didn’t want to do that. Not with her, at any rate. “Sorry, can’t sleep. I’m going for a walk.” Stripping out of the socks and choosing flip flops instead, he made it out of the bedroom and quietly left the hotel room. The hallway was dimly lit. The soft purr of the elevator was the sole sound in this otherwise eerily quiet part of the building. He’d no idea where to go and what to do. But his feet kept walking and somehow, without exactly knowing how he wound up by the hotel pool.

The day had been hot and dry. A fierce summer heat drooped densely in the air. He didn’t mind it most days, but when his head was full and his life in disarray, he objected to beautiful weather. It was silly, really. Alex had made fun of him for that on a few occasions, however, when he was in a sour, bad mood, he liked his air cold and sky hung with rainclouds. Something to match his attitude.

Losing his flip flops and taking a seat on the edge of the springboard, Miles dipped his toes into the cool water and watched the perfectly smooth surface come to life one little rolling wave at a time. For a while he simply observed. Followed the waves as they traveled across the water. Stared at the distorted tiles on the bottom of the faintly illuminated pool.

A familiar voice cut through the silence. “Can’t sleep, eh?”

A smile flew to his face. A genuine one. The first one in days, maybe. He hadn’t set out to find him and yet, he was the one person he wanted to see. Halfway between the pool and the lawn was a small bar. Little more than a counter that was connected to a few shelves that, in return, were full of empty glasses. Alex stood there, fidgeting with a small lock that kept him from accessing the little fridge beneath the counter. “Lucky us,” he drawled, with that well-worn sarcasm he was prone to. “All is securely stored away and even the hotel bar inside is closed. They cut off our liquor supply. Ain’t that nice?”

The corners of Miles’ lips moved up. “There’s a liquor store across the street. And a minibar upstairs in your room.”

“Option A,” explained Alex, giving up on trying to pick the lock, “demands money. I’d have to go up and get it. And option B requires going up as well. Plus, it’s dried up, so to speak. What about you? Does your room house anything good?”

“No.” That bit that had been there when he’d arrived had barely counted. He’d hardly gotten a buzz from it. “All gone.”

“Great.” Alex sighed, high hopes evidently crushed, as he walked up to him. Slowly and unhurried, balancing along the edge of the pool, he put one foot in front of the other, step by step coming closer. Arms outstretched to keep his equilibrium, he raised one leg above the water and dipped the tip of his barefoot into it.

“Should have brought my phone to film this.” Miles was captivated, leaned forward, put his arms on his knees, and propped his head up to observe. Alex never played things safe, which was something Miles adored and detested at the same time. Every night on stage he’d find a way onto some edge or other, tempting fate into letting him fall. Fate always floated around, enticed, but it could never be fully persuaded into letting him drop. “Aren’t you worried you’ll slip?”

“I won’t,” announced Alex confidently. As if his assertive reply wasn’t enough, he raised his leg higher, posed, twirled, all on one leg, then faced Miles again as he came to a stop with both feet securely on the ground. When it was done, he bowed theatrically, even tipped an invisible hat. “See? As long as I keep my head in the game, I’m good.”

Wasn’t that a perfect summation of the past few weeks? They had done so well with clear minds and wise thinking. Until heads had left the game. He kept watching him, wondering if there’d ever be a day when Alex wouldn’t be the most spectacular person as wide as any eye could see.

“You are lost in your thoughts,” noted Alex, stepping onto the springboard. “There’s a ton of bricks on your shoulder, one you can’t shrug off. You must long for rain. Am I right?”

“Am I such an open book?”

“Only to me.”

The idea was scary and comforting all at once. Miles let his shoulder roll. “I’d say my thoughts are as scrambled as yours. What’s keeping you awake this late?”

“You.” He shrugged resignedly. “No point in lying about it. You. Taylor. Hannah. The tour. The next Monkeys album. Life in general. All of it. None of it.” He met his gaze and smiled self-consciously as he wiped some stray curls from his forehead. “Mostly you.” He reached his side and sat down next to him. “I’m beginning to think that you were right all along.” Looking at him sideways, a small smile appeared on his lips. One that carried close to no amusement, but plenty of helplessness. “Playing with it, with this thing that’s between us, it’s dangerous. And now we’ve burnt our fingers, have we not?”

They really had _played_ with it. Miles didn’t like the term. It made what they had done sound careless and flippant. It was the unvarnished truth, though. He raised his gaze, caught Alex’s eyes, quietly admitting, “I didn’t mean to mess around like that. It was stupid to think there’d be no consequences. When you put the moves on me, it felt so bizarre.” Even saying it did. “Like…” As he fought with himself to find the right words, he could sense the warmth drifting from Alex, and despite it being an unusually hot night, he still longed to scoot closer and experience more of it.

“Like we were in this different world, all of sudden?” Alex’s words pulled Miles out of his thoughts.

He nodded. “I want to say that we should have never done what we did, but, I don’t want to…” He couldn’t say it when Alex looked at him with those damn eyes that were like a pair of wide-open arms, one he wanted nothing more than to sink into. Miles directed his attention to the water. Swallowed. “I don’t want to miss the memory of it.” He didn’t want to return to a time in which he had no idea what wondrous flutters a single kiss from Alex’s lips could set off in his stomach. “How did we make such a mess of it?”

“Like you said. We got stupid,” supplied Alex, with a guilty smile and much remorse. “After the… _the thing_ on the bus, I thought about getting back at you.” His head fell forward and a chuckle escaped him. As though he was laughing at himself. “Planned on getting you drunk and—”

“Taking advantage of me?” Miles was laughing, now, too.

“But then, that morning, it was so crazy between us. It’s never been that before. I wanted to talk to you about all the shit that was in my head, but you weren’t there. I mean, you were, but, not like _before_. And as much as I…” Alex took a deep breath, then looked at him with a level of sadness that Miles had never seen before. “I want my Miles back.”

Miles’ heart almost broke on the spot as Alex’s words sank in. “I’m right here. And I’ll _always_ be here.” Covering Alex’s hand with his own, he squeezed it hard. “I’ll always be _your_ Miles. And you’ll always be _my_ Alex.”

“So, we’re friends again?”

“We are. Nothing will ever change that.” A cold shiver crawled along his spine as it dawned on him how close they’d come to screwing up more than ten years of friendship. The thought of it made him reach out and wrap his arm tightly around Alex’s shoulder. “No more messing around with it.”

“Nope.” Alex put his head on Miles’ shoulder. His cheek rubbed against it, once, then twice, until he’d settled into the perfect position. “We’re friends.”

Miles kissed his forehead. “Forever.”

“BFFs,” laughed Alex, bringing much-needed lightness into this somber moment.

“BFFLAEs,” corrected Miles.

Alex twisted to stare at him, eyes no longer sad, but sparkling with humor. “What?”

“Best friends for life and eternity.” Miles grinned at him. That, too, was a thing of theirs. They could move on in no time at all. “Stuff you learn online.”

“You’re so weird,” declared Alex. Detaching from Miles’ shoulder, he laid back on the springboard and crossed his arms beneath his head.

Miles followed his lead. The night sky was clear, yet the moon was new and barely visible. As he got comfortable, enjoying the gentle brush of Alex’s elbow against his own, he let his gaze drop to his side to observe him. Forever lost in the wonders that were the firmament, Alex looked at peace and relaxed and much different than he’d done a few moments ago.

They’d discussed remarkably little. They’d hardly cleared the air. They’d once again renewed their friendship, but Miles had yet to confess to him that in some dark corners of his heart he ached to know if maybe, _just maybe_ , that thing between them was more than platonic love mixed with a confusing and strikingly strong attraction. He’d yet to let him know that, yes, he had played and messed with this magnetism between them, but he’d also reveled in the nearness of him. He’d felt home in his arms. And he’d still to admit to him that he couldn’t possibly promise to refrain from getting stupid again.

Alex tilted his head. Eyes met. “I’m getting somewhere with the new album.”

“You are?” Miles gave up on his thoughts, vowing to return to them later to sort out more of it. “Is it still about the moon?”

“Yep. The moon or…a different world, in a sense. It’s out there. One of the songs got a line about the batphone.”

“You did not!” He was laughing hard now. “That is so like you! Can’t wait to see it pop up in some video.”

“That’s not why I wrote it!”

“Keep tellin’ yourself,” ribbed Miles.

**_ Alex _ **

It was a curious thing, this freshness right after a storm had passed. All the dirt that had clouded the air was suddenly gone. The view was clearer, the sun shone brighter and there was a susurration all around, a chirping, a melody of sounds that had been drowned out by all that rotten pollution, which, for now, was gone.

Life, right after a storm, was lighter. Less dense. And even all the superfluous people and all that conflict and commotion that was bound to return in the shortest amount of time, at the moment, didn’t matter.

Alex was good to go. The show wouldn’t start for twenty or so more minutes and usually, he’d be scrambling for a shirt, be still dreams-deep in a nap, or entirely sidetracked by the most random item one could think of. But today, he was ready. Amused by himself and his good mood, he emerged from his dressing room, spotted Hannah and Taylor chatting in the distance, and quickly slipped into Miles’ dressing room. The latter was sitting on his couch, acoustic in hand, not playing but simply holding it in place with his arms as his fingers wiggled frantically.

He watched from his spot by the door. Miles was on the verge of locking down a melody. Alex knew. He’d seen this precise scene countless times before. Miles had no idea that he was even in the room. In his state of complete focus, the world could crumble beneath his feet. There could be a hole opening up right beneath him, swallowing the sum total of life. But unless the hole swallowed Miles’ guitar, the guy wouldn’t blink.

Then it happened. The fingers moved into position. Strings were strummed. And a rich, heady melody filled the air. Again. And again. “That’s it,” muttered Miles, letting go of the pick, grabbing a pencil and scribbling it down.

It was safe, now. Alex made his presence known by flinging himself onto the couch next to him. Thighs pressed together, arms touched, shoulders rubbed. He was desperate for contact. Not even the dirty, wicked kind. Just the contact-kind. As if feeling Miles’ existence was more reassuring than merely seeing him. And much like one breathed in deeper once the rainclouds had vacated the sky, he put his hand on Miles’ shoulder and rested it there, seeking a stronger connection. Today, it seemed, he did everything with a little more intensity than he did other days.

Beaming at him, Miles sank back against the couch cushions, not bringing distance between them, instead killing more of it. “You’re bright and shiny tonight.”

“Good mood.”

Miles held his gaze for a while, with an unwavering smile and a steadiness in his eyes that Alex had yet to spot with anyone else. Most people blinked when one stared into their eyes. He did, often, himself. Never with him, though. Miles reached up and his index finger dabbed at the bit of exposed skin that peeked through the hole of his shirt where his elbow bent. “You really like that one.” The fingertip lingered.

“My favorite shirt,” said Alex, acutely aware of the physical link. Was it a moment? A _moment_ -moment? Or was it _just_ a moment? Was it friendship, or a line crossed? He no longer knew where the lines ran. He wasn’t all that sure he cared anymore, either. No more sex. That was the deal. And he could uphold his end of it. Losing Miles was not an option and if that was the price to pay, he’d pay it gladly. But if he couldn’t have him as _more_ than a friend, he’d have him _as_ a friend as hard as he could. Short of kissing and fucking, he’d scratch every last bit out of this friendship.

A snort interrupted his inner musings. “Favorite? Thought that was the black one? No wait, you got a new one. The red?”

“I got a lot of favorite shirts, then.” He inspected the holes. “This one has sentimental value. I worked hard for those holes.”

The snort became a scoff. “Did you, now?” Laughter joined in. “I can see it. Always propping up those elbows, resting your head on your hands, daydreaming, and what not!”

“Daydreaming ‘bout songs,” countered Alex, a glint in his eyes. “Those masterpieces of modern lyricism and allegories don’t write themselves.”

“Masterpieces.” Miles weighed the word with a quirked brow and a vaguely suppressed laugh. “Cocky genius!”

“Speaking of geniuses.” It was Alex’s turn to dab at Miles’ arm. “Tell me about the song you’re writing.”

“Only got bits and pieces. A line about Mark Anthony.”

“The guy who was married to Jennifer Lopez?”

Miles’ head dropped forward, landing against Alex’s shoulder, as he vibrated with laughter. “You are such a gossip hoe!”

Alex slapped his chest, but chuckled, nonetheless, unable to resist dragging his cheek against Miles’ short hair. Once. Briefly.

“The one who was married to Cleopatra! Why would I write something about some Latin singer?”

“Don’t know,” countered Alex. “It’s why I asked. Why would you write about Cleopatra’s husband? Seriously!” He sat up and reached for Miles’ journal. “What’s with this song?” He read the open page, but there were none more than a few notes – the melody he’d heard him play – and a vague reference to getting high. Alex pointed there, brows arched. “Wanna?”

“Not now,” tossed Miles back, head shaking. “We got a show to play!”

Alex didn’t see the issue but didn’t comment on it either. Instead, he flipped through the pages. “You said you have bits and shit. Where is it?”

Snatching the journal from him, Miles shut it. “In my head.” He got up, dropped the notebook into his bag, and inspected the shirts, pressed and ironed, dangling from the hanger. “Pattern or not?”

“Um…the patterned one.” Alex got up as well. “Bring any ties?”

“A tie?” Miles gaped. “It’s fucking hot out there!”

So? Alex shrugged. He’d just suggested it. He happened to like Miles in a shirt with a tie. It offered the occasional opportunity to give it a bit of a naughty tug. “Fine. Don’t wear one.” He plucked the shirt from the hanger, grabbed the shoulders, and held it up. “Here, let me help you.”

“How chivalrous you are!” Miles tipped his head. Slipped into it.

Alex ran his hands down Miles’ back, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles. He felt the abrupt spasm that shot through him, felt the little twitches of his muscles right underneath his fingertips. He’d definitely ventured beyond friendship territory but the view from this side of the border was insanely rewarding. “Very handsome,” Alex complimented, speaking lower than he had to. There he was, playing with fire again. Hands wandered up, to his shoulders, down his arms. When he heard the sharp intake of breath, he hastily tore his hands away. Like a warning shot, it had brought back memories of the good but also the bad. Feet stepped back. He quipped, albeit somewhat shakily, “It _would_ look better with a tie!”

“Give it a rest, will ya?” Miles, ever the trooper, didn’t condemn him for what had just happened. He made light of it. “You and your little kinks!”

The last word sent a jolt of excitement straight down to Alex’s eager parts. Oh, if ever they really gave it a go, Miles would be in for the shock of a lifetime to find out just how filthy his kinks truly were! Licking his lips, turning away, Alex smirked. He had to bite his tongue to not make a dirty remark or flirt in the way that he was itching to do!

What would it be like, he wondered. Flirting with Miles. Heavy, provocative, sexy flirting? They bounced off on one another. Miles was fast and witty with his comebacks and there was little, aside from music, that Alex enjoyed more than making an innocent little joke, which would mark the starting point of an ever more lascivious banter.

“Al?!”

Something hit his back and he spun around in time to see a bundled pair of socks land on the floor. “Why are you throwing socks at me?”

“I’ve been calling your name for a minute. You’re off to the moon already or what?”

Alex tossed him the bird.

Miles mocked shock.

In the span of half a second, they were back to laughing.

Miles resumed buttoning his shirt. “You’re coming with us tonight? Han and Zach want to go to a Karaoke bar.”

He hesitated. If Hannah came, then he’d have no reason to show up without Taylor. That meant he’d have to actually pay a decent amount of attention to her when it’d be much easier to let it stay where it genuinely wanted to go, which was to Miles. “Don’t know. Kinda tired.”

It was Miles’ turn to swivel around. “No, you’re not! You’re never tired after a gig. You’re restless and wired and desperate for a distraction.”

Alex could almost see the grey clouds gathering anew in the distance. What Miles wanted to ask, but didn’t state out loud for the sake of avoiding an argument was, ‘why are you lying?’

What was he supposed to say? The truth? That nasty fucker? “Going out…it’s not that I don’t want to. With Taylor…you know—” He stopped when Miles shook his head subtly, warningly. “What?”

“What’s so bad about going out with me?” asked Taylor, who unexpectedly stood behind him, in the doorway. He faced her, spotted Hannah, and some others hovering nearby as well.

Alex closed his eyes and sighed profoundly.

It was raining all over again.

He’d really have to make an effort to fix that one, didn’t he?

**_ Miles _ **

They were halfway across the States. Stuck on a plane. He was pretty sure Alex had slipped a hundred dollar note to the guy at check-in to make sure Hannah and Taylor ended up sitting in the far front of the first-class after he’d pretended that he and Miles would have to work out some song problem and that required them sitting next to each other. They sat last row in the cabin, shielded in the back by a divider. “You alright?” Miles leaned in, whispering. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

He and Taylor hadn’t gone out with him and the rest of the band after all. Alex had ended up serenading his girlfriend during the New York show. That had mellowed things. His glumness persisted, however.

A hollow expression rested heavily on Alex’s tired face. “We got into a fight and – it’s kind of a long story, but…” He shifted, edged closer, lowered his voice. “When I packed…” Lifting his hand, driving his fingers through his hair, he stopped, struggling for the words or the courage.

Miles could tell. Immediately grabbing Alex’s hand, he slipped them swiftly beneath the blanket across his lap, entwined their fingers, and kept them there. Alex faced him, stunned, no doubt, and he smiled warmly in return, trying to set his mind at rest. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right? And if you don’t want to, that’s okay, too.”

“You’re being very kind to me right now.” Alex didn’t pull his hand away. “Try being that by the end of the story, alright?” He spoke quietly as he continued. “She was there when I packed for this trip. I tossed a full box of condoms into my bag. She told me I wouldn’t need ‘em. Well…” A cynical chuckle slipped out. “Last night— Fuck!”

“She found out?” asked Miles. He began to worry. A paleness overcame Alex. His hand felt clammy and cold. “Babe?”

Alex looked away, his voice strained. “I feel like I’m confessing to cheating.”

“Feel like? So, you haven’t told her?” Miles wasn’t sure he understood him correctly. “Look, if you want to tell her everything, it’s alright. That’s your decision.”

“Don’t you get it, Miles?” For a moment, his nerves got the better of him. Then he must have remembered where he was. Alex brought his mouth nearer to Miles’ ear. “She and I…we almost…she only found out ‘cause she went for the box and…”

The insinuation landed. They’d been about to… “Oh.”

“Yes,” snorted Alex. “ _Oh._ ”

Miles’ sight landed on the little tv screen in front of him and he absentmindedly watched the figures move and act and do, yet none of that actually registered. It was so weird, so outlandish for Alex to carry this guilt and yet, here he was himself, overcome by a bout of jealousy so fierce that it staggered him.

Alex was his. He’d been his long before Taylor even entered the picture. And he’d remain his forever. Only, he wasn’t his. Not in that certain, special way, at any rate. He had no right to be jealous. And it struck him now, long after they’d ended what they never should have begun, that there had never been a single instance in which they’d discussed the girlfriends. In all the years that they’d been friends, there had been times when one or both of them had strayed a little from the monogamous side. Neither one had ever judged the other. Sometimes, they’d confided in each other. Sometimes, they’d asked for advice or a couch to crash on. They’d never been proud of it.

And as Miles slowly moved his gaze from the little tv to the man sitting next to him, it dawned on him that even though he had cheated on Hannah with Alex, in his mind, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. ‘Cause Alex had been there, first. He hadn’t betrayed Hannah. He’d merely returned to Alex, in a sense.

“I wasn’t…” Alex swallowed hard. “I didn’t set out…” Then he rolled his eyes. “It’s fucked up, isn’t it? I’m trying to explain to you that I allowed my girlfriend to put her hands on me, when, for the entire time, I couldn’t stop thinking about you! Did you and…”

Miles could tell Alex was afraid of asking it out loud. He didn’t have to hear the actual words to understand what he needed to know. And yes, there had been a moment between him and her. It had been comical, being honest. He hadn’t been into it. She’d tried. Then they’d gotten interrupted. “Almost.” He tightened his grip on Alex’s hand and felt him do the same. “I’d like to say that I wouldn’t have—”

“With your girlfriend? With whom you should…you know?”

Miles took in a slow and steady breath, then dropped his gaze into his lap and forced himself to display a smile that appeared genuine, but which was far from that. “If she can see past the missing condoms…don’t feel bad, Alex. You and I…we’re not…” There was a queasy, nauseating stir in his stomach as the words left his mouth. And he was certain that a few shards of his heart had shattered beyond repair. “What a difference a kiss can make.” Had all those feelings been there before? Or were they new?

Laying his cheek against the outer curve of Miles’ shoulder, Alex closed his eyes. “Can’t wait to land. This tuna can of a flying device – it’s fucking imprisonment!”

“Need a drink?” jested Miles.

“A piano,” said Alex. “Conflict gets me inspired.” His fingers loosened their hold and gradually slipped away.

“Don’t,” whispered Miles, pleadingly. “Not yet.”

His hand stilled. “No?” Alex flexed his fingers, lingered, took his time, then reversed the course of his movements. It wasn’t the firm clutch of two hands that it had been before. It was a gentler touch, now. Lighter, yet not. It wasn’t one that simply established itself. This one was alive. Full of movement. The sensitive skin between their fingers brushed one another in constant perpetuation, feeding an endless current of friction strong enough to spark but yet too controlled to incinerate.

This wasn’t about reassurance. It was neither an act of friendship nor an undertaking of support. It was selfish and dangerous. There’d been a reason that Miles had hidden their hands beneath the blanket. The same reason that made his skin tingle and eyes flutter. Why had he asked him not to let go? He’d known what risks lay ahead! Why couldn’t he quit this affair of theirs? Why, oh why?!

Time flew by at the same speed with which the clouds beneath the plane paid them farewell. The little tv kept showing some film. Every now and then a graphic popped up, informing everyone who cared how far they’d come and how much further they had yet to travel. And as Alex drifted deeper and deeper into sleep, curled up against Miles’ side, Miles tried not to notice how casually his hand had fallen from his, only to settle more or less naturally against his inner thigh. A proprietary move, subconsciously done.

He wished he didn’t like it so very much.

**_ Alex _ **

“Where is everybody?”

Alex blinked, startled out of his concentration. “Hunh? What people? What time is it? Miles?” He’d recognized his voice, but he’d yet to lay eyes on him. “Where are you?”

“Over here,” chuckled his friend, audibly stepping closer. “There is a party going on upstairs, on the roof. Why are you here, all alone?”

Briefly skimming his eyes over his surroundings, becoming aware that the piano bar in which he sat was all but empty and dark, Alex shrugged. A few low lamps were lit around the bar. There was a rustling behind the counter. He presumed somebody was cleaning up. When he’d taken the seat at the piano, there had been customers around. Time must have passed. Plenty of it. But it had been the first set of keys he’d gotten his hands on in days and he’d been dying to hear the notes that he’d been stuck playing in his head for too long.

Miles emerged from the darkness and sat down next to him on the velvet bench. “Nice one. A real Steinway in this bar.” His shoulder bumped against Alex’s. “No wonder you’re here.”

He couldn’t _not_ smile when Miles was nearby. His friend’s lips were, as always, quirked in that sly way that Alex found unendingly spellbinding. And as the distant lights from the bar reflected faintly against his face, making it impossible for him not to stare at the tantalizing bow of his upper lip, his hands slid off the keys, to land forgotten in his lap. “Why are _you_ here?”

The smile became the softest of chuckles. “To look for you.” Alex smelled the drinks on his breath. He’d had some fruity ones. The scent of sugar and gin was mouthwatering in the riskiest of ways. “You said you’d join us upstairs. You never came.”

“Got this line in my head. Had to fiddle with it.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. He couldn’t say why. Was it the darkness that made him dim his tones?

“Something new?”

The excitement in Miles’ voice made Alex’s lips turn upwards. “It’s the cheesy one.”

While Miles stifled a yawn when he lowered his head onto Alex’s shoulder, on the verge of drowsing off, Alex felt jolted back to life. “Would you mind if I sit here for a bit? I’ll be very quiet. Just wanna watch.”

“Me?” Alex tilted his head, looked at him.

A small nod from Miles. Sleepiness oozed from him. “I love watching you write music. Much like, I think, people used to watch the old masters create their paintings, witnessing something magical.”

He was barely awake and that made the words so significant for they came straight from his heart. Alex breathed harder as he turned his attention back to keys. He was used to people calling his song-writing all sorts of superlatives. He hated it. Most compliments came from people who hardly knew what they spoke of. They were meaningless. Nothing but a quick and empty phrase in an attempt to please him, he assumed. There were few people whose opinions mattered to Alex. Miles’ opinion carried a great, probably the greatest of weight. To hear him deliver such a fundamental statement wasn’t far from being overwhelming.

Yet it was Miles’ genuine care for Alex’s work that made it so hard a task at the same time. His favorite lyrics, Miles had told him once, were the very same that Alex had been nearly too scared to write. They left him vulnerable.

Fingers pushed down on the ivory keys. But he couldn’t sing the words. He’d done it openly, earlier, in front of strangers, not minding them overhearing him trying and experimenting with a wild array of verbs and adjectives. In front of Miles, it was unmanageable.

Strangers could hear the most blatant of admissions and not make the connection. Miles would only need a word. Maybe less. Maybe just a letter. Or just a look. Then he’d know.

“I like the tempo,” he murmured into the crook of Alex’s shoulder. “And that it goes up and down. Like you’re lost in thought and your mind wanders back and forth. But it sounds sad. Are you sad?”

And sometimes, he didn’t even need a look. Alex shook his head. “Just deep in thought. Or maybe not. I don’t know. But I’m not sad, I promise. Why would I be? I’m sitting in front of a beautiful piano, while my best friend is drooling on my favorite shirt, forever ruining the fancy cotton!”

He felt the laughter more than he heard it. Miles’ body was vibrating and shaking. And when their eyes met, a cheeky grin graced his face. “Was not!”

Alex flashed a smirk his way. “But you were close to sleeping. Come on. Let’s go find a cab. It’s a long way home.” They’d come to this place right after their Santa Ana gig and it’d be an hour by car at least until they’d arrive at their respective places.

“Okay.” Reluctantly, Miles rose to his feet.

Alex closed the piano’s lid, stretched his legs, and grabbed his jacket from the chair nearby. “Got your phone and your keys and your wallet?”

Miles patted his pockets. “Think so.” As soon as Alex had his jacket on, Miles’ arm curled around Alex’s neck and he slipped back against his side. “Can I use your shoulder as a pillow in the cab?”

Laughter from Alex. “Since when do you ask?”

He didn’t answer. And Alex didn’t need him to. He had begun to ask around the same time that Alex had started to think twice about wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. And that time, it became clearer and clearer to him as of late, had arrived long before their lips had touched.

Having thought twice about it and subsequently having decided to ignore better judgment, Alex did tow him in and anchored him against his side. They walked out, he flagged down a cab and followed Miles in. He gave the driver Miles’ address, and the guy drove off into the night, Miles promptly curled up along Alex. It took a minute at most until the soft puffs of his subtle snoring crashed against his neck. Like leaves shaking in a warm summer breeze, his body reacted in no time, shivering ever so casually.

 _‘Were we ever just friends?’_ wondered Alex, lost in his own head. _‘Or were we just too dumb to see?’_


	5. The Thirty-Hour Goodbye

Note: I fear this is becoming an actual, longer story. I should give up pretending to myself that this is just a small little thing... Anyway. Hope you enjoy it! 😏  


**Miles**

They were back on the bus. Back in their own little corner of the world, in the rear end of the 'rolling entrapment device' as Alex had come to call it endearingly. Miles sat on the couch by the tv, headphones on, listening to the bits and parts of a few songs that he'd managed to record on his phone and that he now tried to sort through. It'd be much easier a task if it weren't for his favorite friend, who paced the small space from side to side in endless repetition, snapping his fingers, and, overall, being impressively distracting in the worst of ways. 

“Bloody sit down, will ya?” Miles plucked a bud from his ear as he rolled his eyes. “Or walk elsewhere. Some of us are trying to focus!” 

“ _ All _ of us are,” retorted Alex, fingers snapping on. “I'm fucking stuck. I've lost a word!” 

“Have you checked your pockets?” 

Glaring at him with the patience of a man who had none, Alex's lip ticked upward, to form that sneer that Miles found equal parts uncalled for and yet strangely amusing. It always reminded him of Elvis. “Was that supposed to be funny?” 

Brows arched, feeling challenged, Miles pulled the other bud out as well. “Pretty sure it was funny. You know, to people with a sense of humor…” 

“As it turns out, I'm one of those. It wasn't. I meant it literally. I wrote it down, on a piece of paper. I pinned it between the pages of my journal. But it's gone!” He resumed pacing. “Something about a ghost. But I already used that term, so I came up with a different one. What was it? Back seat, haunting,…” 

“You're not even talking to me, are you? And now I’m talking to myself.” Shaking his head, Miles put his headphones back in and amped the sound up. Fingers twirled around a pencil as words floated through his head. Unlike Alex, Miles preferred  _ thinking _ his lyrics and not  _ speaking _ them. Surrounded by a cluster of notes, guitar pick, sheet papers, and a journal, he let his attention wander across item after item, while weighing an array of possible choices for a line. His free hand darted out for the sheet paper and he was seconds – less than that – away from scribbling down a slate of notes when Alex filched the pencil and the paper from his hands and used Miles' thigh as his personal desk. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Alex looked up from the sheet to Miles, then back down, writing on, unperturbed. “Just a sec. Remembered the word.” 

“Good for you,” drawled Miles. “Get off my leg now!” 

“Fine!” Bothered, Alex leaned up, kept paper and pencil, and moved to the opposing side of the room, to take a seat on the other couch. 

Miles ticked his jaw, stood up, walked over in two large and imposing strides, only to lower his head right in front of him. “This,” he pointed out, snatching the pencil from Alex's reluctant fingers, “is mine.” He rose back to his full height. Sauntered back. Sat back down. 

Once he'd resumed his position, new sheet in his hand, he glanced at him from far below his lashes, smirking. 

Alex grinned back. “Would it have killed you to leave me the pencil?” 

“Yes.” 

“I don't think this is working. You and me, writing together in the same room, on separate songs. We ought to change that.” 

The smirk on Miles' face widened. “Wanna leave the room? I got here first.” 

“'Cause you cut the fucking line to the bathroom!” Alex crossed his arms in offense. Fresh out of pencils, he couldn't continue writing at any rate. 

“I thought you showered at the concert hall.” They'd performed at a festival in San Francisco and instead of prolonging the stay and partying through the night, they had decided to take the tour bus back to LA, where they'd remain for the next three days 'til they'd depart for Oslo. “How was I supposed to know you were playing Paper-Rock-Scissors with Zach for dibs on the shower? It was empty!” 

_ Could have joined me! _

Where the hell had that notion snuck in from? He quickly swatted it away, clearing his head from that awful, alluring thought. 

“You just had a weird idea!” Alex's forehead lay in wrinkles as he squinted at him. “Your face got all squishy for a moment.” 

Miles quickly looked away. It was scary how they well they knew each other. “Had not,” he lied. Badly. 

“You did!” 

“Whatever! My ideas are none of your business!” 

The door opened and Zack and Loren stepped in, beers and chips in hand. “Blade Runner is on. Make some room for us!” 

“What's a Blade Runner?” asked Miles. 

“Uh, Harrison Ford,” snarked Alex, visibly shocked. “Are you serious? That's a classic film, Miles!” 

“Oh, don't make it sound like you're some fucking expert on old movies! You might know the titles, but never know the plots!”  _ Oh _ . That was a line he needed to tinker with! “What's Blade Runner about?” 

“Some cop,” began Alex, surreptitiously averting his eyes. “Future and, like, crime!” He threw up his arms. “Fine, got me! But at least I've seen it!” 

“Hey, we're trying to watch this!” called Zach from next to Miles. 

“I'm out,” announced Miles and grabbed his few items. Then his fingers wrapped around the pencil, studiously sliding it into the back pocket of his jeans, before walking towards the door. 

Alex, whose eyes were sharply turned his way, scoffed when Miles passed him. “Think I won't go there?” 

Miles couldn't help himself. He winked. 

It was way beyond midnight and yet, Miles couldn't stop. For the first time in what seemed like ages he felt truly, genuinely inspired. He felt dead-ass tired, too, and he'd vowed to his knackered self go to bed an hour ago, but it was this one line that kept him awake. “Plot, slot, lot, rot, not,…” 

A sleepy figure padded into the little kitchen, into which Miles had slipped. The bunk had been unpractical when it came to guitar playing. The tv room was stuffed with drunk musicians. And the shower reflected guitar sounds in a truly awful manner. He'd tried there. The figure promptly walked into his guitar. “Jesus Fucking Christ in a day spa! What the hell?!” 

Miles stifled a laugh. “Careful. Guitar.” 

Spinning his way with a glower that Miles was sure contained smoke and fire, Alex warned, “Joke one more time! I dare you!” He bent forward to inspect his big and severely bumped toe. 

That move made Alex's briefs stretch tightly over his magnificently shaped ass and Miles generously allowed himself a bit of a stare. Slyly grinning, thoughts immediately turning rotten, he wet his lips by languidly running his tongue across them. 

“You know what's fucking unfair?” asked Alex, tearing into Miles' salacious daydreams. “You looking at my ass like that and me being unable to take advantage of it.” 

“Wanna  _ be _ fair? Wear a damn robe!” He wore nothing but tight, royal blue briefs. Alex was a bloody vision, a walking sex dream only hotter. The things Miles wanted to do with him… 

“Stop it!” Alex flung a dishtowel his way. 

The act caused him to face Miles directly, which in return revealed that the briefs were not only tight but also bulging in a certain area. Teeth dragged along his lower lip, his breath hitched the slightest bit and his eyes were glued there. Until, at last, his head kicked in. “Put some fucking pants on!” 

“Wanna borrow me yours?” Alex made his way to the fridge. “Sounds like yours might be getting a little tight!” Opening the door, he stood in front of it, illuminated by the soft lights drifting from inside. Now, he deliberately arched forward, taking his sweet time wiggling his ass in front of Miles as he inspected all the goods within. “Quite a bit to see here!” 

Miles’ jaw dropped. “You are a fucking mean person, you know that?” 

“That's what you get for stealing my pencil,” quipped Alex nonchalantly as his hand disappeared in the depths of the fridge, to grab a small container. 

“MY pencil,” retorted Miles, miffed. His lyrical frustration didn't mix well with sexual frustration and both started to get the better of him. “That's also  _ my _ food, by the way.” 

Alex read the label and cringed. “For Fuck's sake, Miles. Soy?” 

“PLOY!” Miles scrambled for the pencil, edged out words and rewrote others. “Fuck, yes! Thank you!” 

Shrugging, Alex put the soy back in the fridge. “You're welcome.” He kicked the door shut, made his way to the table, and grabbed the paper from Miles' hands, reading out loud the line he’d altered. “‘ _ You know the plan, but you never knew the ploy.’ _ ” He gave it some reflection, then put the paper back. “I really like it. Just don't think it's an apt description of Hannah, to be honest.” A hand snuck around the glass of Whiskey that rested in front of Miles, but Miles quickly stopped the theft. 

Eyes met. “I couldn't possibly agree more.” 

Frowning, Alex sat down. “Who is it about, then?” 

“Somebody who can be madly infuriating at times,” spoke Miles earnestly. He brought the glass to his lips, amused that Alex's jaw tightened in annoyance. “Somebody who is incredibly selfish, yet strikingly selfless. Somebody who, it seems, waltzes in and out my life in mysterious ways. Bit of an  _ apparition _ , I guess.” 

Alex's eyes widened. His mouth fell open. “You stole my word!” 

Miles reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper, innocently wondering, “You mean this one? See, I recognized the yellow color when I spotted this one sitting between your pages. Like the yellow paper of the  _ ‘Notes’ _ page that I had torn from the  _ Yellow Pages _ to write down  _ my _ lyrics. A paper that sat on the table in  _ my _ dressing room. One that was missing a big chunk when I came back there tonight! What were you doing in my dressing room? When were you even in there?” 

“When you went for a smoke with Loren. Just before the show. I was about to join you, but then I overheard him telling you something about rear-view mirrors, and this line hit and, well, your dressing room was closer than mine. Those were MY  _ Yellow Pages _ , in case you forgot! I stole 'em from the hotel in New York 'cause I couldn't find my journal! I still don't know how it ended up in your suitcase!” 

“You put it in there,” scoffed Miles. “You were all weird before we left New York, don't you recall? You woke me early in the morning, only to push a pile of  _ my _ shirts into my hands – no idea why you had ‘em in the first place! Your journal was between them. I thought you were hiding it from Taylor.” A bit of Whiskey was left in his glass and he held it out for Alex. “You notice a pattern here?” 

“We're chaotic and unorganized?” Alex took the glass and finished the drink off. 

“We’re, like, crazy entwined,” Miles said. “I mean, take a look at the stuff at your place, or mine. Can you really say with absolute certainty what's yours and what's mine? I can't. Found a bunch of records the other day. All yours, I think. At least, I don't recall buying 'em. There are two jeans in my closet that must be yours since they’re too short a—” 

“That doesn't mean they're mine,” countered Alex, affronted. 

Miles sighed, the  _ 'this is so not the point' _ -kind of sigh. “Wanna bet they're yours? There's an electric in my bedroom in London that belongs to you. We got toothbrushes at each other’s places and don't even get me started on the coffee mugs, 'cause that kind of freaked me out when I noticed.” 

“We both agreed that toothbrushes are reasonable! Before that, we always had pre-plan when one of us stayed over! And  _ I _ put the mugs there,” admitted Alex, lacking all remorse. “Yours are weird. They are chunky and I don't like drinking from them!” 

Miles was dumbstruck. “You snuck mugs into my kitchen?” 

“Mugs, a glass, a matching plate…” 

“Have you moved in without telling me?” 

“You put a fucking throw pillow on my couch! A cheetah-print one!” 

“I had one to spare,” Miles declared. “And I can't nap on your couch unless I have a pillow!” 

“Told you to use the bloody guest room!” 

“One naps on a couch, not in a bed! And ever since Taylor renovated your guest room, I don’t like sleeping over anymore! It’s fucking uncomfortable.” 

“That's true,” conceded Alex. “But all that…that's not new! I put the mugs there years ago. What's bothering you about all that now?” 

“It's not bothering  _ me _ ,” muttered Miles, feeling bad because of it. Fingers began to play with the pencil again. “Hannah…a while ago, she suggested getting a new place, like, together. We're not…I mean, we haven't decided,” he interjected quickly, seeing Alex's eyes losing their late-night spark. “Anyway. She pointed it out. And then, in New York, she mentioned it again after you dropped by and…” 

“I hate when this happens,” spoke Alex, quietly now. Exasperated. “When they begin to meddle with our friendship.” 

“Yes.” He didn't like it, either. It had happened before. Over the years, some of the girlfriends had made remarks, flippantly or accusingly, suggesting he and Alex should take up less of each other's time and space. 

In the past, he'd always replied that they were getting the whole thing wrong. That there was nothing to worry about. That it was just a unique and fierce friendship. Only, those words no longer applied. And try as he might, he couldn't stand in front of Hannah and tell her that all of that meant nothing when, in reality, it meant a great deal to Miles. 

Alex gave a helpless, almost sad shrug. “We must do something about it, then?” 

“I don't know.” It was the honest truth. He had no idea how and where to go from this place they now found themselves in. 

“Maybe, for now, we should simply go to bed,” suggested Alex. “A few more weeks. Then the tour is over. We'll see where we are when that time arrives, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Rising to his feet, Alex stepped in front of Miles and lifted his hand, stretching it toward him. 

He took it. Fingers circled around each other and as Alex put some muscle into dragging Miles off his seat, Miles smiled up at him, reveling in the firmness of his grip and taking a bit of selfish pleasure in the way Alex's bulky arm flexed. God, he loved his arms. His strong embrace. The heat that engulfed him whenever he was curled inside of them. 

When he stood steady on his feet, Alex turned around and headed for the bunks. Miles' hold on his hand was strong and he trailed Alex closely. Eyes lingered on the elegant line of his spine, which curved inward ever so slightly. It was physically exhausting not to dart out and trace it with his index finger. Or the tip of his tongue. Engulfed in silence and darkness, his voice was barely more than a whisper when he made his suspicions heard. “You've done it on purpose, haven't you? Walking into the kitchen, almost naked?” He wasn’t angry about it. Or bothered by it. He was merely curious. And even though he was practically certain of Alex’s answer, he still asked the question. To let him know that he’d caught him. If anything, there was bemusement in his tone. They couldn't quit it, could they? No matter how hard they tried, no matter how far they believed to have come, all it took was a moment, a few shadows to dissolve in, and there they were, in the twilight of the night, eyes locked, longing desperately for one another. 

Alex quirked the corner of his lips, trying to mask the smirk that Miles knew was hiding right there, in plain sight. “Why would I do that? Didn't we promise not to mess with it anymore? Wouldn't tempting you count as messing?” 

“Would it?” wondered Miles, in earnest. Would he want it to count? 

Raising their entwined hands, Alex brought them up, above Miles' shoulder, past the side of his head, behind him. 

Miles swallowed hard, observing with a bated breath as Alex flattened their hands against the brown wooden panels that made the side of the bunk. His lids grew heavy with each increment that Alex inched closer. When he was standing right in front of him, noses nearly touching, pelvic areas most decidedly touching, leaving no doubt that Alex was, for all intents and purposes, rock-fucking-hard, Miles inhaled sharply. 

His free hand, Alex touched to Miles' stomach. Fingers spread wide. The most sinful of smiles appeared on his face. “Maybe,” he hushed, leaning in, brushing his lips against the delicate curve of Miles' earlobe. “I've discovered a loophole. No kissing. No sex. No orgasm. But…” Teeth dragged long the skin. Miles shuddered. “We never said we couldn't do what we've done before, am I wrong? You've seen me in my underwear countless times before we ever laid lips on one another. Seems unfair to make me wear a robe now, in this heat, wouldn't you agree?” 

“I've seen you  _ naked _ long before we had sex.” Shit Fucking Hell! How— Why— For what fucked up reason would he point that out now, thought Miles, mentally berating himself. 

The raspiest of chuckles vibrated from Alex's throat. “You understand, then.” Lips kissed Miles' cheek. “Sleep well, babe.” 

**Alex**

Alex wasn’t sure how it had happened, why it kept repeating itself, and who was responsible for it, but somehow, one way or other, whenever he was in LA, staying at his house, a party took place. Not every night. But most nights. His hip rested against his kitchen counter, one arm bent in front of his stomach, the other clutched a bottle of beer. “I think it’s that guy.” 

Miles, arms propped up on the counter, head resting on his hands, followed his line of sight. “Tall one, with the beard? Who is he?” 

“No fucking clue. But he’s here every time. Everyone else, I know. My mates wouldn’t throw a party without asking me.” The snort from Miles was impressive and Alex turned his head, blinking at him. “What?” 

“The same friends that filled your pool with goldfish for fun? The ones that jumped your fence and stole your barbecue grill, only to ruin it when it dropped to the ground on the other side, ruined?” 

Stupid ideas. Alex chuckled. “You were one of those friends.” 

“Hey, I had nothing to do with the goldfish!” 

“You were the one suggesting stealing my grill! You have a key to my house. Why did you jump the bloody fence in the first place?” He could have severely hurt himself. He and the other idiots had tried to hoist that enormous device over a six-foot-tall fence! Alex still remembered Miles’ call, sounding all cheeky and giggling, drunk obviously, confessing his crime. There was nary a moment in Alex’s life in which he’d been angrier with him. He’d yelled and cursed and said some hard shit over the phone. And that sickening, nauseating knowledge of having almost lost him that had dropped into the pit of his stomach like a brick falling from the sky would be forever etched into his memories. Two days after Miles’ lucky escape from death, he’d shown up in London, and Miles had handed him a fucking gigantic rose bouquet and a gift certificate for a new grill. Alex couldn’t have cared less for a new grill, and he’d ruined the bouquet as it wound up meshed between him and Miles when he’d grabbed him and given him the kind of hug that could strangle a person. “Don’t fucking ever do something so stupid again! I could have lost  _ you _ ,” he’d said. 

Miles had dug his face into Alex’s shoulder, he’d kissed his neck and nodded. “Promise,” he’d murmured, guilty and adorably coy. “Don’t be mad anymore. Say you still love me.” 

Alex had given his cheek a fat kiss and for the rest of the day, they’d hung out on his bed, working on a song that would eventually land on the album as  _ Aviation _ . 

A distant smile settled on Miles’ face and he glanced up at Alex, shrugging. “I don’t like telling people I got a key. That’s between you and me.” 

It surprised Alex to hear that, and he gave up observing the guests. Instead, he fully turned towards Miles. “It’s just a key. For emergencies.” 

“We’re hardly ever in the same city,” Miles pointed out. He spoke silently, as if in confidence. “Your parents have emergency keys. Matt got some to your place in LA, ‘cause he lives there and it makes sense. I got keys to all your places. The only time I’m in Paris is when I got a gig. They’re wasted on me. Does Taylor know I have ‘em? I never told Hannah that you got keys for my apartments.” 

Alex blinked, trying to make sense of what Miles was telling him. No, he hadn’t said a word about it to Taylor. But that had no greater meaning, had it? Those were  _ his _ places. Not theirs. He could do with the keys as he pleased. “Miles…they are keys.” Nothing more and nothing less. 

He nodded in agreement. “They are.” 

Alex gave up, laughed it off. “You’re weird tonight. You know that? Come on, let’s find us some real drinks.” 

They’d found Tequila. A few shots later, Alex sat on his couch, surrounded by people on all sides, stuck in the strangest game of ‘I Never’ that he’d ever played in his life. “Come here,” he called, spotting Miles hovering on the outskirts of the game, laughing about the whole event with some others. “Help me out. My memory sucks!” 

“The couch is full,” announced Miles, evidently delighted about that. 

Alex wedged to his side, up against some pretty brunette, who instantly replied with flirty eyes. His fingers made a ‘come here’ gesture, aimed at Miles. “There’s room now.” 

“Not gonna join that game.” 

“You should,” called some guy named Allen, who Miles had come to know as Alex’s neighbor. “He’s losing. He needs help!” 

“Yeah, Mi. I’m losing. I hate losing. Help me!” 

“Oh boy.” Miles traipsed over drunken people, past strangers making out and wiggled into the spot between Alex and some other woman. A red-head, that one. 

The brunette next to Alex fluttered her lashes his way. “I can sit on your lap. That would free some room.” 

“Or Miles could sit on my lap. My girlfriend might prefer that,” he quipped.  _ Or not _ , a distant, not quite as drunk voice whispered from the depths of his consciousness. He shook his head. All that commentary from his brain, it was annoying! His arm snaked around Miles’ neck, bringing him closer. “This game is odd.” 

“Not odd,” chimed someone from somewhere. “Smart. We’re a fucked-up bunch! If we make this about sex, we’ll all be wasted in a dizzy.” 

The red-head next to Miles got the game going again. “I never…painted my own walls!” 

“Have I ever?” asked Alex, whispering straight into Miles’ ear. He’d vague recollections about renovating something. 

Miles brought a shot glass to his lips and swallowed the drink. “You helped me paint my walls.” 

“Right! Well.” He drank up. “Close enough.” 

“You’re supposed to not drink, in order to win!” Miles was laughing, clinging tightly to him. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Fingers dug into Miles’ shoulder. He loved having him this close. He was his rock. His favorite thing in the world. Most importantly, he was  _ his _ . And Alex used every opportunity that presented itself to let the world know. He’d found him years ago, this funny, crazy, incredible man that had become an inseparable addition to Alex’s life, and nothing in the world could ever make him let go. Plus, when Miles was drunk, he made it much easier for Alex to lure him into bad decisions. Alex wasn’t nearly as befuddled as it may seem, however. And Miles knew. Miles always knew those things. They had teamed up now. They’d lose a few for show. But in the end, they’d win. They always did. 

“My turn,” said Miles, pondering his statement. “Is this strictly home-improvement or—” 

“Anything  _ but _ sex,” somebody supplied. 

“I never,” stated Miles, “trashed my instrument on stage.” 

They were surrounded by musicians, after all. Alex grinned victoriously. “Ne-ver!” And Miles hadn’t, either. His Miles was prickly about his guitars. He hardly allowed him to play with them. 

Most others drank. Rock stars. 

“I never,” began Alex, recalling the last party at his place, “danced the  _ Macarena _ to  _ Baby One More Time _ in the bloody rain!” 

“Not fair, Turner!” Somebody complained. 

Again, most drank. 

Miles tanked his face in the crook of Alex’s shoulder. “Still got that video on my phone!” 

Alex laughed hard. “That was a party!” 

The brunette had her turn. “I never…assembled an IKEA item.” 

Miles met Alex’s eyes proudly. “Never.” 

Alex smirked. That wasn’t because he’d never tried, but because he’d failed and never tried again. “Never even set foot into that store!” And Taylor had labored hard to get him there. But he’d brought Miles, who, in return, had brought Hannah and as the women went shopping, he and Miles had frittered away their time sitting in Alex’s car, listening to a fucked up version of  _ Abbey Road _ that some friend of theirs had tuned to make it sound as if the Chipmunks had sung it. “Still got that album,” Alex admitted, once again seeking out Miles’ ear. 

“Got nightmares from that!” 

It made him smile that Miles instantly knew what Alex was talking about. 

“Never?” The brunette placed her hand on Alex’s thigh. “You’ve missed out, then. Maybe we should take a trip there at some point.” Fingers spread. “Or elsewhere.” 

About to object, Alex paused when Miles’ hand reached over, casually brushing her hand away and replacing it with his own. “How’s your boyfriend doing these days,” Miles asked pointedly. “Still buying you purses?” 

“We broke up,” she snipped his way. 

Miles kept his hand on Alex’s thigh and Alex stared at it, transfixed by the casual way in which it rested there. High up. Motionless. Proprietorial. 

“Did you?” implored Miles, only to add a snide, “Shocking.” 

“Ouch,” commented Alex, enjoying the exchange in front of him. Miles was bent slightly over Alex’s legs, so Alex had to dip his head just the barest bit forward, to brush his lips against his friend’s ear. “I like it when you get feisty.” 

Sneaking a grin his way, Miles leaned back enough to resume a sitting position, but not too far. He kept his hand on Alex’s thigh. And Alex couldn’t deny liking it a lot. And every time Miles wasn’t paying attention, Alex gave his hand a tiny little tug, bringing it higher. He was tempted to move it between his legs, but they were in the company of others, after all. 

An hour later and the party had thinned considerably. The ‘I Never’ participants had dropped like flies, one after another, and a slate of cabs had been called to deliver the drunk bunch to their respective homes. Miles and Alex were still standing and, after two coffees each, perky and ready to party on. 

“What’s a farewell fuck?” Stretched out on Alex’s couch, squinting at Allen the neighbor, Miles frowned. 

“Told you that Sheila and I broke up. Shit got downhill for a while. Sex got bad. We barely fucked anymore. The end. But it was a great relationship, especially the sex! We wanted to remember it the way it used to be. So, we agreed to do it one more time.” 

“After you guys broke up?” inquired Miles, for clarification. 

Allen nodded. “If you know it’s the last time, you know, you make it good. Worth it! You consider breaking up with Hannah?” 

“What? Why?” 

Alex leaned against the large window, behind the couch, out of sight, listening intently. Did Miles think about ending things? He’d seen less of him and Hannah as a happy couple. These days, when they were out together, they went out as part of a group. Miles rarely ever brought her up. And Alex didn’t ask. Girlfriends were a thing of their own. They’d never much discussed them. He’d never cared to do so before and he was particularly uninterested now. 

“She isn’t here. Haven’t seen her the last times you were here.” Allen shrugged. “Just wonderin’” 

Miles blew out a breath. “It’s complicated.” 

Allen nodded. “That’s what I said when things went south. You want it to work out or are you waiting for her to end it?” 

“Hard questions at this hour?” Miles grabbed his bottle of beer from the table. “No longer drunk enough for that. It is what it is.” 

“What about you?” Allen directed his gaze at Alex, and Alex escaped the intrigued, curious eyes of Miles by intently staring out of the window. 

“When are things not complicated, right?” There was a commotion out there, by the pool. Then loud laughter. “Oh fuck, somebody vomited on my lawn! Fucking disgusting!” As much as he hated people who didn’t know their liquor limits, he was appreciative of the distraction from Allen’s nosy line of questioning. Until a second person joined in on the barfing. “Okay, that’s it. Party is over. I don’t want to spend my free day tomorrow hosing down my lawn.” He also planned on enjoying his pool and he was worried the third person to throw up would throw up in there! 

“You gettin’ old, Turner!” Allen got up. Only a few more than a handful were left. Word made the rounds and slowly, guest after guest, wobbled home. 

Half an hour later, Alex swallowed the last inch of a very expensive Whiskey in one thirsty gulp. “Last one!” He slammed the front door shut and walked back into the kitchen. “Finally! What’s it? Three a.m.?” His eyes landed on Miles, whose head was lost in his fridge. “That one got raided tonight. Anything left?” 

“Stinky cheese.” Miles emerged, teeth dragging along the edge of his lower lip. 

Alex leaned against the top of the kitchen island, behind him, giggling. Miles hated stinky cheese, but he was hungry. He could tell. And now he was torn between an empty stomach and eating disgusting shit. “How desperate are you, huh?” 

Miles tossed a smirk his way. “What else you got to offer? Hiding any cookies?” 

He had to disappoint him. “Not a single crumble.” 

“Fuck.” He reached for the cheese, then retreated his hand without it. “Ugh, damnit!” He closed the fridge. “I’ll starve, then.” 

“Drink,” suggested Alex. “There’s half a bottle of Tequila left!” He held it out for him. 

A brief second of hesitation. Then he went for it. Took a hefty swig. Grimaced. “Awful shit! Here. Have some.” 

“Hahaha!” Alex did drink it, handed the bottle back, and hopped onto the counter. He raised his leg, tilted the tip of his shoe forward, and gently pushed it against Miles’ stomach, bringing him with his back against the fridge. “Be honest.” He removed his eyes from the spot where his foot touched him and trailed them leisurely up his body, across the flat planes of his abdomen, the tautly stretched fabric of his superbly fitting shirt, pausing to take in the exposed skin of his throat, until, finally, settling on his face. Which was alert and aware of Alex’s every move. “What did you mean when you said that keys are keys.” The words had lingered in his head for the entire night, like a slowly dying fire that burned back to life the moment somebody added a few twigs. Twigs, or in his case, spare seconds of attention. 

Miles let his head roll back, closed his eyes for a brief second, then raised his shoulders. “That was a lot of drinks ago.” 

He shook his head at a snail’s pace from side to side, not letting him get away with that. “You know exactly what you meant,” said Alex. His hand stretched out; fingers wiggled. He wanted the alcohol. 

Miles handed it over. It was his turn to drill into Alex’s resolve with a stare that was less scrutinizing, but, instead, a caution. A warning. As if to probe,  _ ‘Do you really want to know?’ _

“Tell me.” 

“There are no secrets between us. No walls. No lines. Maybe one? I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’ve been thinking about it, lately.” He met Alex’s eyes. “Should I apologize? I probably should. I’m putting all this nonsense in your head. It’s not my intention.” His hand wrapped around the foot that still dabbed at his stomach. “Your leg must be getting heavy, holding it up like this?” Fingers curled around the ankle, taking over the task of keeping it in place. The other hand slowly trailed up his calf. 

Alex took another swig from the bottle without ever breaking eye-contact. “Did you forget? I got incredible staying power.” 

His lips swung into a quick smile. “Must have slipped my mind.” He slid his palm along the back of his knee, thumb brushing the inner leg. Sounds of rustling fabric filled the air, merging with the low whirring from the fridge, supplying a hushed background tune. Miles took a step toward him. 

Carefully placing the bottle of Tequila away, Alex sat up straighter, taking in a shaky breath. Miles’ ministrations were sending jolts of electricity up and down his spine. His temperature spiked. He was beginning to get used to that ever-present fever inside of him that frequently rose to red levels the moment Miles aimed his laser beams at him. “What happened to our deal?” His voice was terse. His resolve to uphold his end was melting in record speed, turning into scarcely subdued hope under Miles’ smoldering gaze. 

“I stand by it,” assured his friend, fingers dancing idly along Alex’s inner thigh. As if mocking the words that were spoken. He was as close to the breaking point as Alex. The pining in his eyes was palpable. “Allen’s comment keeps coming back to my mind.” 

“Farewell sex?” Yes, he’d heard it, too. He’d also considered its possibilities. 

Miles’ finger traced the seam of his pant leg. His mouth was ajar, the slightest bit, lips dry. Alex heard him breathing harder. “The last time you and I…it was—” 

“Good,” Alex stated quickly. 

“True. But,” wondered Miles, eyes darkening beyond black, “if we’d known, I mean, don’t you think we’d have…” 

“Worked in a little more…finesse?” 

“Or…feeling?” 

It had been a rather intense, however, goal-oriented encounter. A game of wits and a battle for control. “You’re suggesting…” 

While his thumb coasted the very edge of Alex’s quite prominent bulge, Miles took yet another step, this one bringing him directly between his legs. Legs that Alex spread welcomingly wide. “Don’t you think,” rasped Miles, “that we deserve a last time?” 

“A proper last time,” husked Alex, moving measuredly, well-timed, toward the edge of the countertop. To Miles. “A goodbye.” 

Breaths mingled, melted together. The very tip of Miles’ nose skimmed Alex’s, and his voice became little more than a breathy proposition. “Yes?” 

A shaky nod rolled from Alex’s shoulders as his head dipped forward. Lips ghosted another. There was a crackling all around. An inferno about to consume everything. They danced around the final step. Hesitant, both. Scared and scarred. Until the need for the other one won out. Mouths met in a deeply desperate kiss. And then there were flames everywhere. 

Miles grabbed Alex’s thighs, pulled on his legs, lowered him onto his back on the marble kitchen top. One hand he wrapped around his right thigh, the other he curved around his throat. Alex wailed with arousal, loving the rough manner in which Miles conquered him. Nobody else ever did so. But Miles was like all the others. He claimed him. He desired him. He made no secret of it. 

Mouths were dueling in the filthiest of way. It was too soon that they had to part of oxygen, but Alex used the opportunity to let his own urges run wild. Fingers dug into the short strands of Miles’ hair, grabbing, fisting, pulling hard. It made Miles growl and moan and Alex kissed every last noise from his lips with a hunger that was getting stronger and stronger with each stroke of his tongue. 

“Here?” asked Miles, between pants and fumbled attempts to undress him. 

A throaty chuckle escaped Alex. “Right here.” He pulled hard on Miles’ shirt, making him climb onto the counter, on top of him. Glasses and bottles surrounded them and in one swift move he shoved them off, propelling all to the floor, littering the fine tiles with shards. “Seems we’re stuck now.” 

Straddling Alex, Miles’ eyes sparkled with humor. Lips quirked devilishly; he lowered his head one thudding heartbeat at a time. The tip of his tongue traced Alex’s lower lip agonizingly slow. “What horrible fate. You and me. Alone.” 

Bending one leg, raising it, making his thigh rub along the inconveniently jean-clad crack of Miles’ ass, Alex lifted his head and captured Miles’ teasing tongue between his teeth, scraping the pliant flesh, then soothing it with his own. “With nothing but alcohol and condoms around.” One hand slipped into pockets, to pull out a whole bunch of ‘em. 

Loud laughter bubbled from Miles. “You did not!” 

“After Allen put this idea in my head,” confessed Alex, innocently, still using his teeth to drive Miles into insanity, “I thought, why not prepare for all eventualities.” 

“Yes,” agreed Miles, sliding his hand into his own pocket and fishing out a few foil packages. He thrust his tongue deeply into Alex’s mouth, going for a ferocious kiss. “Good thing,” he said, between them, “that you store ‘em in the bathroom, in plain sight.” 

“We’re so fucking bad,” concluded Alex, finding it hilarious and exciting at the same time to know that they were alike in these many ways. 

Miles’ hands slid up Alex’s shirt, from his belt, following the row of buttons, to the gaping top, where his golden necklace shimmered underneath the moon’s bright light. “Is this a favorite shirt of yours as well?” 

Alex’s fingers found a new home against the luring curve of Miles’ behind. “Will that stop you from ruining it?” 

“No,” he stated decidedly. Fists curled into the lapels and in one rapid wrest, he had them torn apart. “But I would feel bad.” 

“Don’t bother,” soothed Alex, high on all that sexual tension that was nearing the point of explosion, “I’ll just get even.” Abruptly, with almost meteoric speed, Alex rolled them over, suddenly more than happy that the kitchen island which he’d cursed more often than not for its damned size, offered that much room to move. Unlike Miles, however, he took his time popping the buttons, one by one. His lips followed each inch of exposed skin, grinning against his chest when Miles writhed and wriggled, dying, no doubt, for a bit of real relief. It wasn’t until his mouth lingered between the hard abs of his fine stomach that he slipped his hand into his friend’s pants, offering a little alleviation. Placing light kisses across his abdomen, Alex moaned melodiously. “You’re so fucking hot. I can’t get enough of you!” Try as they might, he knew in depths of his torn heart this would not be the last time he’d have him. He couldn’t go a lifetime without him. He couldn’t even make it for two fucking weeks! 

“Neither can I,” croaked Miles, arching up and into Alex’s caresses. “Oh, babe! I need you!”

Alex dipped his tongue into his belly button. Fingers encircled Miles’ hard shaft. “Need more?”

“Ugnnnhhh!”

Kissing down the path led out by the fine hairs which trailed toward magical places, Alex couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t planned it this way, not really, anyway, but now, that they were here, at his place, surrounded by brick walls and locked doors, he could finally let go in a manner that the tour bus never allowed for. “I want to you scream my name.” His free hand unbuttoned his jeans. “I’m going to make you cum so fucking hard! I will suck you into my mouth, drive you mad, and swallow every last damn drop of you! This will be the best fuck of your life! And when we’re done…” His grip on his cock was gentle as he moved his fist up and done in steady strokes. “We’re going to fuck all over again. On the couch. In the bed. By the pool. In the pool.”

Breathless laughter escaped Miles as his hands twisted inside Alex’s hair. “The night ain’t long enough for that.”

No. The night wasn’t. Lifting his head and meeting his hazy eyes, Alex curved the corner of his lip upward. “Didn’t we plan on spending the day together anyway? And if we do that, what’s the point of parting for the night? For the next thirty hours, you’re mine.” 

“Yours?” The expression on Miles’ face was a marvelous play of emotions. Enthusiasm. Excitement. Lust. Happiness. Desire. Naughtiness. Hunger. And something frighteningly deep. And raw. Something that, for now, Alex chose not to dwell on. But he took note of it. Keenly so. He leaned up briskly, going for a hard kiss, and Alex indulged him momentarily. Until his hand flattened against his chest and he nudged him back down. Changing directions, swinging his leg over his body, giving Miles a perfect view of his ass, Alex shoved Miles’ pants out of the way and delivered on his word. 

“Fucking shit,” shot Miles. “You’re so fucking good at this!” Reaching up, between Alex’s legs, fondling an erection that Alex regretted not unpacking before going for Miles’ cock, Miles writhed underneath him. “Baby, yes, oh God, yes…”

And then it sank in. They had time. Alex didn’t need to rush anything. Letting go of his cock with a plop, he carefully stood up, on top of the counter, feet on either side of Miles’ body, eyes burning down at him. 

“You weren’t done,” said Miles, slightly dazed, almost pouting.

Smiling deviously, Alex shook his head. “Not even close.” He took his belt off in one fast snap of his arm. Pants dropped. He kicked ‘em off. All the while holding Miles’ searing eyes. Briefs were tossed. Naked, he lowered himself back down, resuming his position, licking a wet trail down the line of his friend’s hard flesh.

A low, husky laugh echoed from Miles’ throat, one that sounded like sex and nothing else. “Mmmhh, I like this view…” 

After seemingly endless sex, some quick cleaning up, and a speedy trip to the supermarket around the corner, they wound up by the pool, where they’d ended up fucking again. Now, temporarily satisfied, Miles lay on the large towel that Alex had spread out, resting his head on Alex’s stomach, purring and smiling while Alex gently caressed his head. “Mmh… ‘tis nice.” 

“Just nice?” Alex raised his eyes. 

“I’d give you a better word, but I think you fucked my brains out!” 

Laughter filled the air. “You’re welcome.”

“You know, I had every intention of writing today. But…I can’t leave your arms. Feels too good in ‘em. Gonna miss spending all this time with you when the tour is over. You’ll be busy recording and I’ll be busy struggling to finish writing this thing.”

Alex had noticed that this time, Miles had a tougher time producing the notes and the words that used to come to him easily. “Maybe you’re trying too hard.” Eyes closed, basking in the warms rays of the sun, he let his fingertips dance idly over Miles’ jaw. “Why not take it easy for a little while? Come and stay with us.” 

“Watch you record?” Miles chuckled. His hand reached out and fingers wandered absentmindedly along Alex’s lower leg. “Is this your way of saying you’re an inspiring sight? ‘Cause I already know that.”

“Not watch. Record  _ with _ us.” He’d offered it before. Years ago. Then, they’d been on the hunt for a missing player. Now? Now, Alex was a lot more selfish. He didn’t  _ need _ Miles. He  _ wanted  _ Miles. “Be with us. You could take a break from songwriting. Just enjoy the ride for a bit. I mean, you’re the unofficial fifth Monkey at any rate. We all think so. Without you, we’re just four stars out of five. Try it out. You could end up liking it.”

“Alex…” The distracted touch became firmer, comforting. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer you’ve made. I do. I feel honored and flattered in so many ways. But you and I, we’re not meant to be in the same band. We’d kill each other.” 

Alex snorted hard. “You do realize that we’re in the middle of a fucking tour. You and I, in  _ one _ band.”

“Yeah, but this is different. And I know that you know. This is a vacation, something special. It’s incredible because we know it’s not permanent. You love the spotlight as much as I do. We fight for the mic as it is!” He rolled onto his stomach, facing him. “I love you. I don’t like the thought of this tour coming to an end any more than you do. But you and I aren’t meant to share a stage forever.” 

How odd it was to hear him say ‘I love you’. He’d said to him so many times before. But it sounded vastly different when they were naked, entangled, and still riding out the last waves of the afterglow. His hand sank from his cheek to his neck, lower, until his thumb brushed over his clavicle bone. “Do you know this bone is called ‘clavicle’, after the Latin word ‘clavicula’, which means ‘key’? It’s called that because, when you twist your shoulder, the bone rotates like a key.” He let his pad brush over it languidly, watching as Miles’ cheeks flushed and his eyes darkened. “I thought it was somehow connected to the Clavius crater on the moon. But that one’s named after the mathematician and astronomer Christopher Clavius. Both got nothing in common. I was wrong.” 

“You hardly ever are,” whispered Miles, scooting closer, further into Alex’s touch. 

“I am sometimes. I just don’t like admitting it. I think  _ you’re _ wrong, this time. I think we’d figure it out eventually.” The palm ventured toward Miles’ neck, and Alex raised his head, meeting Miles’ lips for a slow kiss. When it was done, he smiled softly. “I love you, too.” 

**Miles**

With a wide grin on his face, Miles reached down and grabbed Alex’s hands, pulling his body off the couch, on which they’d cuddled for the greater parts of the evening. “Come on. You’ve been yawning for half an hour straight. Time to go to bed!” 

“Don’t wanna,” whined Alex, refusing to budge. “It’s one a.m., only eight more hours before all of this ends!”

The grin got small and tinged with sadness. “Don’t do it, Al. Don’t think of it like that. We  _ still _ got the night.” He took in a shaky breath, trying to heed his own advice. But it would be hard, to say goodbye to this day. This day that had been magical and insane and incredible and everything that he’d ever imagined a perfect day to be like. 

Alex rose to his feet, to wrap himself around him. Alex’s front pressed against his back and he sighed defeatedly. “Lead the way, then.” He promptly yawned again. “I think I am gettin’ old.”

Miles burst with laughter. “You’re crazy!” He wandered with careful steps through Alex’s house, up the stairs, making sure to keep him close and not to stumble. Until he came to a sudden stop mid-stairs, spotting a framed print in black and white. One that seemed distinctly familiar. “That is  _ mine _ !” 

Alex huffed. “It’s not!” 

“It is,” stated Miles. “Even the frame is! See the little scratch at the bottom? I did that when I bumped into it with the vacuum cleaner! How did it end up here?” He’d thought he’d lost it when he’d moved some stuff from LA back to London to make room for new things. “Oh, wait, you helped me pack that up! Did you steal it?” Letting go of him, he whirled around and met Alex’s almost mockingly demure expression with one of utter disbelief. “Well?”

Virtuous man that he pretended to be, Alex shrugged. “It must have accidentally fallen into my bag.” 

“Ohoho!” 

“I liked it,” conceded Alex, rolling his eyes. “All your walls in London are covered with some print or other. You can spare one!”

“But I liked this one.”

Alex’s hands went to Miles’ waist, making him up walk up the stairs backward. “So do I.” 

“I want it back,” announced Miles. He really did. He’d gotten it years ago, all the way back in London when he’d moved into his first proper apartment. It was a black and white print of something weirdly expressionistic, shapes and whatnot. It was a bit chaotic, but it had charm. “Taking it with me in the morning!”

“Wanna see you try,” challenged Alex. “I’m putting up a fight! It’s been here for over a year now. You lost your rights.” 

About to retort, Miles found himself silenced by Alex’s wicked lips. Who was he to argue those! Smirking into the kiss, his fingers went to Alex’s shirt, tugging on it, letting him know he wanted it gone. When their mouths parted for air, he chuckled. “I’ll get my print. Wait and see. But for now…” He spun ‘em around in a split second, gave Alex a solid shove, and had him flat on his back. “I got other things on my mind.” He roughed up his own shirt, tossed it away, and went to unsnap his jeans, taking pleasure in Alex’s lust-filled eyes. Jeans dropped to the ground. 

“Briefs,” demanded Alex. “Now.” 

Miles was quick to obey. Standing naked, aroused, and eager in front of Alex, he cocked his hip and brought his hands to his waist. “Your turn.” 

Alex wiggled, turned, and shifted. It took nary a few seconds for him to lay there, butt-naked. Eyes colored in midnight black, his thirst was undeniable. “What’s next?”

Miles lowered himself on top of him, his weight supported on his arms. Lips ghosted Alex’s, noses bumped. “Blow-job or rim-job. Your choice.” 

The tip of Alex’s tongue darted out, tracing the lines of Miles’ lips in slow-motion. 

“Rim-job,” hushed Miles. “Roll over, babe!” 

Alex did in a split second. 

**2006**

_ “This is your new place, then?” Alex took a swig from the bottle of beer in his hand, dropped his duffle in the hallway, and lost his shoes along the way. “I like it. So grown-up. But it’s not going to last you long,” he said.  _

_ Miles was surprised to hear him sound so sure of it. Lowering his hand with the hammer, about to put a nail into the wall, he frowned. “Why?” _

_ “It’s small. You say you have a guest room? That the one I’m looking at, right ahead of me? The one with guitar cases piling up in the corner? I’m supposed to sleep there tonight. Please tell me you spared space for a bed.”  _

_ “There’s a folding cot in the corner.”  _

_ Alex scowled hard, the kind that said ‘you better not!’. “If that’s true you scored an own goal. I’m taking your bed!”  _

_ “Kidding,” joked Miles, aiming nail and hammer anew. “I wouldn’t dare to make the ‘voice of a generation’ sleep on a lousy little cot!” He snuck a glance at Alex and grinned when his mate blushed.  _

_ “You’ve read the review, then.”  _

_ “I’ll frame it, too! Will you sign it for me? Friends with somebody so revered? Pretty cool, ey?”  _

_ Alex hit his shoulder. “Bloody stop it, will ya? It’s stupid and silly. To be called that. The hell do they know? Others speak much better. Besides, that’s not a title a critic gets to pass on. A generation does. And this one loves Nickelback.”  _

_ “Bleh!” _

_ “What a Dickensian description,” commented Alex. Only to wince. “I think I should do that. Hammering, that is. You’re about to lose your thumb!” His hand went for the tool.  _

_ “Fuck off! I can do this.” Miles, once more, put the hammer and nail down. “I don’t think this is the right spot.”  _

_ “What do you want to hang up there?” _

_ “Art.” Miles nodded towards the framed black and white print leaning against the wall near them. “It’s a print of a ‘delightfully personal piece of scissor art’ which was made at the height of the expressionist movement.” _

_ “Dear God, where did you buy that? Home Shopping Network?” _

_ “Flea market. Cost me less than a Pound. And the old lady selling it studied art in her youth. She’s the one who explained it to me.” _

_ “Ah,” drawled Alex, unimpressed. “Still ugly.”  _

_ “Philistine.”  _

_ “Pff,” snorted Alex, “where’d you learn that fancy word? Your smarty-pants girlfriend?”  _

_ “Ex-girlfriend,” admitted Miles, quietly, busying himself with finding the perfect position. “She broke up this morning.” _

_ Alex cringed. “Fuck. Sorry. What happened? I mean, do you want to talk about it? Or should we, like, get out and get drunk?” _

_ “‘tis fine. Nothing to talk about. She told me she loved me.” _

_ “You didn’t?” _

_ “Say it? No. Like, we barely dated for a few weeks. Come on, help me with this. Where am I supposed to put it? Squarely in the center?” _

_ “No! Which part of the apartment sees the least amount of light? That’d be a good spot.”  _

_ “It’s not that ugly. I like it. Screw it.” He positioned the nail, flexed his arm, and hammered. Nail securely placed, Miles grabbed the print and hung it up. “See,” he said, facing Alex satisfied, “looks proper good.”  _

_ “What’s next? A Picasso?” _

_ “More like a Pizza Hut. I’m hungry.” _

_ “Eating out? You lured me here with great promises of dinner and drinks. I got nothing so far. Not even a bloody biscuit.” _

_ “Well, I haven’t gotten around to shopping.” _

_ “I don’t wanna go out. I’d have to put my shoes back on. Order something. Like, whatever.” As he finished the last of his beer, Alex eyed him quizzically. “Can I ask you something personal? Really personal?” _

_ “Sure.” Miles tossed the hammer into his sparsely filled toolbox with a loud clunk. He returned his attention to his print and applied the finishing touches, making sure it hung in perfect balance.  _

_ “Have you ever told a dove that you loved her?” _

_ “No. Wait, once. Back in school. I’m not sure I did really love her, though. I liked her. Why?” _

_ “Just…nosy.” _

_ Miles was doubtful. “Al?” _

_ “I’ve said it. Recently. She said it first. I don’t know if I do, though. Why did you say it if you didn’t?” _

_ “I thought it was my job to say it. Like, you hear it and you say it back. I was sixteen or so. I mean, this morning? I knew for sure I didn’t.” _

_ “Maybe I shouldn’t have said it,” Alex mused.  _

_ “Did you feel warm and fuzzy when she said it?” _

_ “Nah.” _

_ “Then you’re screwed.” _

_ Alex slapped his shoulder again. “Aren’t you a friend.”  _

_ “Hey, if it helps,  _ I  _ love you a lot!” _

_ “Do you?” jibbed Alex. “Or are you just saying it ‘cause it’s your job?”  _

_ “Take it or leave it,” Miles countered. _

_ Shrugging, Alex took it. “I  _ must _ love you.” _

_ “Why that?” _

_ “‘Cause you got a fucking ugly artsy print in your flat and offer me nothing but warm beer. If that doesn’t deter me from staying over, I don’t know what love is.”  _

**Now**

They had hardly gotten an hour of sleep. They’d clung almost desperately to one another until exhaustion had overpowered them. Miles rested on his side, one arm curled beneath his head, the other one slung loosely across Alex’s bare waist. 

“In a few minutes you’ll leave this bed and we’ll be nothing but friends again.” Alex, mirroring Miles’ position, smiled a hollow smile. He was visibly tired and yet, just like Miles, he forced himself to stay awake. “I don’t like that I think that way, because our friendship means so much to me. But, the last thirty hours…”

“A dream,” whispered Miles, unable to speak louder. Alex had kept his promise of making him scream and he’d done it in plenty of spectacularly satisfying manners. “That’s what they were. The ultimate, flawless dream.” Removed from reality, outside everyday problems, and far away from prying eyes they’d relished in each other’s company. Both were aware that the time had come to return to life as they knew it. However, between the two of them, Alex was the dreamer. Miles was the realist. He’d have to be the one to make the first step. 

“I won’t kiss you,” said Miles, with a heavy heart, after a moment of silence, slowly reaching for the sheet that covered him. “‘Cause the last one was unforgettable and I don’t want to spoil that.”

Alex nodded gently. 

He slipped out of the bed and quietly got dressed, wordlessly borrowing briefs and a shirt from Alex, only to pause at the side of the bed when he was done. His friend still laid there, having not moved an inch. “I’m staying right here,” declared Alex, lips quirked into a smirk. “I want you to remember me in the sexiest way possible.” He bent his leg, raised it, propped his head on his hand and winked.

Miles loved him more than ever. Even now, in this impossibly strange and emotionally charged moment that made breathing almost a burden, he still managed to make him laugh. Despite it all. “Sleep-tousled, drooling, and with bad breath?”

Alex flung a pillow at him. 

“I gotta go. I really do. See you at the airport?” 

“Yep.” 

“Hey, one more thing.” Halfway out of the bedroom, Miles halted. Eyes landed on his old print at the side of the stairway. “You hated it. Why did you take it?”

Sitting up, meeting Miles’ eyes, Alex rolled his shoulders. Drowsy, draped barely by bits of a sheet, he truly was too sexy to tear one’s eyes away from. “Reminds me of something.” 

“Keep it, if you want.”

“You sure?”

“I’m in no position to demand it back, I fear.” He took a step out of the room. Then another one. “After all…” Almost around the corner, nearly out of sight, he batted an eye Alex’s way. “I’m as much a thief as you are…”


	6. Reality Bites

#Now We Know Part 6

**#Miles**

Miles was inside the hospitality tent in Gothenburg, Sweden, roaming the large buffet table with hungry eyes. Clutching the empty plate in his hand, his focus jumped from chicken to rice to salad to potatoes to a wide variety of vegetables as his belly growled louder and louder with each second that ticked by. What to choose? All of it looked delicious, all of it made his mouth water, yet he could scarcely taste a fraction of it! They’d have to perform in a bit and if he tore into this delicious array of food like his savage pit of a stomach demanded he’d end up stuck on stage in one spot like a bloody bug on its back.

“I can hear that rumble all the way across the tent!” Alex had a devilish grin tugging on his lips as he sidled up against his side, sliding his arm almost serenely along Miles’ backside, as though it was something normal. An everyday occurrence. In a way, it was. But at the same time, it was not. “Eat already!” Fingers traipsed about, making a path across his right hip, to the front, only to vanish underneath the cloak of privacy that was Miles’ favorite Kimono. Once there, they traveled back, until the finally reached the end of their teasing trail, coming to rest where Miles’ spine dipped inward. That’s where the touch shifted from casual to intimate.

He swallowed hard, allowed his lids a brief moment of fluttering, only to sneak a warning his way. “We’re far from alone in this tent!”

“Doesn’t that make it exciting?” Alex winked, sly bastard that he was. “Try the chicken. It’s incredible.” The hand slipped away as tranquilly as it had appeared and in much the same manner that Alex vanished as suddenly as he’d arrived.

Miles closed his eyes fully, dropped his head resignedly, and nodded for no good reason at all, except to agree to Alex’s point. Yes, it was exciting. But it was also frustrating. Futile. Pointless. Hopeless. Ever since walking out of Alex’s bedroom in Los Angeles, they’d remained true to their word. They did not discuss what had happened. They acted as friends, rather, they were friends, and neither of them had shown any indication of being particularly affected, heartbroken, or unsettled by recent events. They’d moved on from Los Angeles in a spectacularly grown-up manner.

With one exception which was less tied to L.A. and which had reared it dangerously alluring head long before they had even arrived in the city of Angels: Alex’s inventive side.

He was unambiguously, straightforwardly refusing to keep his grabby hands to himself! And since he was bloody clever and manifestly resourceful if he wanted to be, which happened to be the case whenever it served his own purposes, he’d concluded that sex, as agreed upon, was not allowed. But everything that had ever transpired between them before _the sex_ had happened was fair game. In Alex’s head, that meant a friendly little touch was all the justification he needed to drag his cursed fingertip over every last inch of Miles’ body – no area off-limits. They’d pecked another’s’ lips before exploring the pleasures of slow-burning kisses. Alex took that as his never-expiring ticket to give him an endless amount of tiny, torturous smooches. What had at some long-passed point been a wholly innocent sleepover had now transformed Miles’ shoulder into Alex’s favorite pillow whenever they sat on a couch or elsewhere, anywhere truly that offered a chance for a bit of a snuggle.

Not that Miles was truly opposed to any of that. Or particularly reluctant to participate! It was, after all, as unrewarding and as unsatisfying and as close to him as he could get! But it also fucked up his once serene state of mind!

They’d always had a unique friendship. They’d always balanced and teetered on the edge of danger. It was who they were. Forever curious and perpetually drawn to danger. Only then, it had been a suppressed attraction. A denied will. Reigns that were firmly, tightly held. Now?

Miles put a large slide of chicken onto his plate, then a bit of rice, and some colorful assortment of vegetables. Inconspicuously, his eyes wandered to the back of the tent, to the large table at which _he_ and some others sat and chatted. As if tipped off to his attention, Alex shot a quick smile his way. The layered, faceted, propositioning kind.

Now, Miles was hooked. He was needy for a fix and Alex was the good stuff! Blowing out a breath, he grabbed fork, knife, and napkin and shuffled over. Putting the plate down, he sat down next to Zack, across Alex. Close, but not too close. He didn’t trust Alex to keep his hands to himself. “What y’all laughing about?”

“Taylor,” said Zack, a wide grin on his face. “Girl got humor. Did you know she called that American idiot a wrestler in golden trunks? A fitting description, wouldn’t you say?”

“She did?” Miles blinked. “She told you?” ‘Cause he knew he’d made a very similar joke. To Alex. In private. The same Alex that was tossing strange looks his way, shielding the side of his face, and mouthing ‘no’.

“Alex dropped his journal. We snuck a peek at his new songs. Good one, the one about the wrestler!”

Entirely ignoring Alex’s pleas, Miles grinned as his teeth plucked a carrot from his fork. Once swallowed, he quirked his brow. “You wrote a song about a wrestler? What kind of weird album are you working on?”

“A _stellar_ kind,” retorted Alex. He reached over, grabbed Miles’ knife, and cut a good chunk off the slice of chicken, only to filch it from his plate. “Tasty.”

“There’s a bloody buffet right behind me,” Miles pointed out, extending an arm as if to present it to him. “Get your own plate!”

“I’m not hungry!”

“You’re eating.”

“One teeny, tiny piece,” drawled Alex.

“Half of it,” corrected Miles, staring at Alex.

Alex held his eyes. “Barely a fingertip’s worth.”

He had a habit of it. Miles didn’t know why. Alex only ever did it with him. But each time that Miles got himself something to eat, Alex was there, stealing half of it. If only he’d ask! Hell, if he asked nicely, Miles would even go as far and get him a plate! He was nice like that! But a full plate of food could never tempt Alex into snacking as much as a wee bit of edibles in Miles’ hands could.

Rolling his eyes, shaking his head, Miles nudged the plate halfway across the table. “Try the carrots. You look pale, you need vitamins.”

Taking more of the chicken, Alex tossed him a dirty look. “Thanks, doc.”

Miles made quick work of the vegetables, then. “Tell me about the wrestler.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” dismissed Alex quickly. “It’s not even…like, I’m not even sure it’ll be a song. I kinda liked the joke,” he admitted, secretly smirking his way. He, too, remembered then that Miles had quipped it.

“You should turn it into a song,” James chimed in. “I like the vague notions of love in that one.”

The pea that was in Miles’ mouth caught the wrong way down as the words hit. Coughing hard, drawing entirely too much attention to himself, he eventually got the vile green dot to get moving. A big gulp of water later, eyes intent and sharp as they held Alex’s fixed ones hostage, he gave him the kind of look that unmistakably demanded to know: ‘What the fuck?’

“You misunderstood,” proclaimed Alex sternly, avoiding Miles’ piercing interest and snorting at James instead. “Love.” Alex shook his head vigorously. “It’s a song about a damn wrestler. A bloody joke. A political one. Seriously, what’s this, anyway? It’s my journal. I don’t sneak around in yours!”

“Do it, I don’t care,” claimed James nonchalantly. “If it’s that, I’d rephrase it. Maybe you got the hots for the orange dude!” Zack joined James in his laughter.

Alex got up.

“Don’t leave now!” Zack stopped laughing; at least he tried to. “We’re fucking around.”

“Go right ahead without me.”

Grabbing his plate, Miles followed Alex out. Outside, on a patch of grass, he plopped down. It was cloudy but warm and he shrugged out of his Kimono, plate settled on his lap.

Alex sat down next to him, by now a cigarette firmly wedged between his lips. His voice was low, almost uncharacteristically quiet. “Go ahead. I know you want to ask.”

“About the song?” Miles smiled lightly as he ate another piece of chicken. The last bit he offered to Alex. “Wanna?”

“Thanks.” The appreciation on Alex’s face wasn’t lost on Miles.

“I’m dying to know about the song. I’d like to know how a wrestler, a political orange, Taylor, and I all fit into one, but I’m not going to ask. If you want me to know, you’ll tell me. When you’re ready. And if not, okay.” He playfully bumped his arm against Alex’s. “You know that!” Miles made an effort to bring something akin to a smile to his lips. “I got more jokes for your moon base if you need any.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” chuckled Alex. “Maybe I’ll write a funny album and call it ‘Best Of Miles’ Jokes’!”

“Live from the moon,” added Miles, grinning cheekily.

Alex pulled the cigarette from his mouth. The free hand slipped between their touching thighs. Index finger curled, he brushed his knuckle against Miles’ leg. When he spoke up, his voice was hoarse and suggestive. “Know what I realized this morning?”

Dragging his teeth across his bottom lip, almost embarrassed that a flimsy, superficial little touch like that was enough to cause goosebumps to break out all over his skin, Miles aimed his eyes at him and bit back a moan. “What?” God, how undone he sounded. It was ridiculous!

Lips quirked, Alex stretched his finger and slipped it beneath the thigh, giving some tender attention to the back of it. “We used to work out together. A long time ago. Before we got all suspicious of cameras and whatnot, we actually used locker rooms and showers.” He inched his head closer toward him. “We’ve showered together, you and I. Naked.”

Eyes fell close as a feverish wave crashed against his skin. “We can’t do that now, Alex.”

“But we’ve done it before,” he hushed, nearing still.

“Do you honestly need me to paint a picture of what will happen when you and I step into a shower together?”

“Do it,” begged Alex. The fingertip was inching toward dangerous territory. “Be as precise as you can. Use your naughty mind and your wild imagination and tell me, exactly, what we’d do.”

Fuck! If they weren’t surrounded by people, he’d demonstrate right now!

The plate slipped from his lap. Barely noticeable. None more than a low sound of rustling fabric. But it was enough of a disturbance to break the spell that Alex had cast upon him. “Stop it, alright?”

Alex pulled his hand away, diverted his attention back to his cigarette, and shrugged nonchalantly. “Fine. I merely said it in an environmentally oriented move to save water!”

Miles shook with laughter. “That’s the single most insane thing I’ve ever heard you say!”

*

He wished he could blame all of it on Alex, but he was just as guilty of pushing the boundaries. Finding him backstage by the refreshments table preparing his big glass of iced water with a shot of whatever was available, Miles beelined towards him, curled his arm right around his shoulders, and leaned in for a quick and unconcerned peck that he placed dead center on Alex’s lush lips. “Ready to go?”

Beaming his way, Alex nodded. “I’m counting, you know. You’ve kissed me more often than I’ve kissed you. Your argument that I’m the corrupting element in this very strange relationship of ours is slipping!”

“You started with the little kisses,” whispered Miles, impulsively stealing another one. This one went to the check. They were in public. People were everywhere. But, oddly, nobody ever said anything. And because of it, at some point, Miles had ceased to be concerned about it. Funny enough, he found the act of smacking a quick kiss on Alex’s mouth much less worrisome than the repeated, lasting touches which they exchanged on other occasions.

Alex chuckled. His arm wiggled between his and Miles’ meshed-together bodies, to curve around his back. “I’m not so sure.” His eyes were crinkling. “I was very shy when I was young. You might have begun all of this! I doubt I would have ever kissed you before you kissed me.”

“You and shy?” Miles snorted as he squeezed him tightly. “Never! You were bad from the beginning.” With his free arm, he filled his glass, matching Alex’s choice for a drink. Gin and water. Two slices of lemon. Some ice cubes. “You’ve always excelled at playing nice. But there’s a devious, seductive side to you that has been there from the very start!”

“Has it?” Alex’s hand slipped a few inches. His lids dropped. And he met Miles’ eyes with an air of darkness that brimmed with suggestiveness. “Do you like that side of me?”

Damn him and his looks. “I can’t resist it,” admitted Miles earnestly, almost whispering the words as his lips hungered for Alex’s. His face drifted closer. Two magnets. Gravitation.

“Hey guys, you’re on,” somebody shouted from somewhere.

Alex sighed heavily. Miles’ shoulders fell. “Let’s go, shall we?” His hand skimmed from Alex’s shoulder, down his arm, until their fingers entangled. He really shouldn’t be this disappointed for having gotten interrupted. He ought to be grateful for it! No kissing, they’d said! No _real_ kissing, at any rate.

*

**#Alex**

“You do look pale.”

Alex rolled his eyes from the floor of the elevator all the way up to the ceiling. One hand clung to the handle of his suitcase, the other one held the guitar case. “It’s late. I’m tired. We just got off a five-hour flight. I’m not sick,” he declared, bordering on irate that he had to say it _again_. “I just want to go to bed.” It was in that completely unfortunate moment that Alex had to sneeze.

The polite “God bless you,” which Miles promptly said was accompanied by a mockingly arched brow and a barely visible smirk that nobody else would have ever spotted but which Alex saw as though it was a blinding headlight!

“Not a word,” he warned.

Miles shrugged innocently. “No idea what you’re talking about.” He adjusted his own guitar bag which he’d slung over his shoulder. “You should drink plenty of tea and water, though.”

Grunting hard, Alex faced away. Eyes on the red digits announcing the levels, he counted along, desperate to get out of this cage.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Bloody stop it! M’not sick!” Another sneeze. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Give it to me, come on.” Miles reached for the guitar in Alex’s hand. “Hand it over. I’ll carry it.”

“Will you stop?”

“Nope. This isn’t your first flu. You know the drill. You rest, I fuss.” 

“But I hate it when you get all fussy,” lamented Alex, adamantly refusing to either meet his eyes or hand over the guitar. “Last time you tried to kill me with VapoRub!”

It was Miles’ turn to grumble. “Your mom called me and made me get it for you because you were too stubborn to get it yourself! Maybe you haven’t noticed, but your mom is not the kind of woman one says ‘no’ to!”

“You don’t say,” muttered Alex.

“Give me the guitar.”

“I fucking sneezed! I’m not dying!”

“Wanna cancel the gig?”

Now, Alex faced him. Eyes wide, outraged by the mere suggestion, he shook his head. “Are you insane? Read it from my lips, Mi: I fucking sneezed. That’s it!”

“Here’s what will happen next,” drawled Miles with the authority of somebody who’d lived through it a time or two. “You’ll pretend you’re not sick. You make it worse by refusing to put on a sweater or use an extra blanket. You’ll get even sicker. And two to three days from now – if we were in London – you’d end up at my place, sniffling and puffy-eyed, begging for chicken noodle soup and my favorite hoodie.”

Well. To his defense, Miles’ chicken-noodle soup tasted best. And the hoodie…it was comfortable! Soft and cuddly. “But it won’t come this far! I’ll go to bed, I promise.” The doors, at last, chimed open. He gave the suitcase a rough pull and bit back a curse when that was interrupted by yet another sneeze.

Miles cocked his hip, blocking his way. “Guitar.”

Alex inhaled deeply, swallowed his temper, and handed it over. “You got your own suitcase, a guitar, and now you want mine, too? You only got two hands.”

“I got two shoulders,” quipped Miles, annoying Alex even more by being chipper and upbeat. “Don’t worry about me.” His own guitar was securely dangling from one shoulder. He put Alex’s one over his other. One hand carried his own suitcase and the other one wrapped around the handle of Alex’s. “What’s your room?”

“’tis bloody ridiculous! 1804.” Alex shuffled ahead. “Here.” He unlocked, got in, and sat down. Lips formed a sneer and arms crossed. Miles, meanwhile, turned the thermostat up, fluffed the bed’s pillow – the right one, Alex’s preferred one – and put the guitar next to the sofa. Then his friend called room service, ordered lemon tea and chicken noodle soup, an extra blanket, and closed the blinds once he was done with that.

“Done?” wondered Alex, miffed, but resigned.

“Yep,” grinned Miles. He leaned down and kissed Alex’s head.

“I’m tempted to lay one on you right now ‘cause I know it’d annoy you! I could strip, how’s that? That would make you bolt, right? Else you’d risk falling into my bed again.” Fingers went to his jacket. “Maybe I should do it.” He found it maddeningly infuriating that Miles still had that smug little smirk on his face. That _‘You so can’t annoy me’_ -look. “Maybe sex will prove to you that I’m _not_ sick!”

Miles laughed. The bloody bastard laughed! “Babe, you got snot running from your nose. Try and strip, I dare you. Let’s see how far you get before you sneeze again. Or worse, shiver!” He leaned in once more, kissing his temple this time. “Go to bed. I’ll check on you in the morning. If you need anything, I’m in 1806. Across the hall.” Another peck. “Night!”

*

The blanket was broken.

Alex had tried, again and again, to get some rest but no matter how he turned and what he did, he just wouldn’t get warn. Either his feet ended up covered in icicles, or his hands ran cold, or his back got frostbites. It had to be the blanket! There was nothing else he could blame for his state of freezing to death. It certainly wasn’t what Miles called the beginning of the flu!

He wasn’t sick!

He hated the thought of it. It made him helpless. Dependent. And nothing bothered him more than that! Whenever he was that, everyone morphed into a hoverer. Taylor got all nurse-y, then. She’d go out and by bulks of paper tissues, coughing syrup, and trash magazines. She’d told him that, apparently, those helped. He’d yet to figure out how! His mother, when she was near, forced him into wearing handknitted socks that were scratchy, and she made him hand over his phone lest he wanted to be bothered by all his friends. Matt made him drink disgusting tea with no sugar and no honey. Jamie had suggested a doctor’s visit last time he’d sneezed. As if that helped with anything! And Nick, always looking for his own ways to help, had actually gone as far and suggested acupuncture. Like getting stabbed a bunch of times had ever improved somebody’s state!

Blowing out a frustrated breath, fighting the urge to shiver, Alex crawled out of bed, grabbed his blanket, snuggled into it, then made his way out of the room and across the hallway. He knocked once. It was barely midnight, so he had to be up. Miles rarely went to bed early.

The door opened.

“My blanket is broken. Can I use yours?”

Miles, true friend that he was, opened the door wide, let him slip inside, and immediately wrapped him up in a big and tight hug that was deliciously, marvelously warm. Alex nestled into his arms and wiggled in as deeply as he could.

“Wanna stay here?”

He nodded against Miles’ shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed.”

“You can stay up,” mumbled Alex, not letting go, but clinging to him as Miles led the way. “Unless you don’t want to. You don’t have to go to bed because of me. But…it’s okay if you do.” He was his personal heating pad. If Miles wanted to watch TV on the couch, Alex could curl into him there.

An indulgent smile flew to Miles’ lips. “Go to bed, Al. I’ll go change and be right there.”

“You can change in here.” Alex kept the blanket around him when he climbed into the right side of Miles’ hotel bed, covering himself with the second one as well. Funny. Miles’ blanket was warmer. “I don’t mind.”

“I know that,” assured Miles, snickering. He leaned down; tucked more of the cover around Alex. Then his hand brushed a few strands of hair from his forehead. “Getting you hard by watching me strip won’t do you any good right now!” He grabbed a pair of sweats and went into the bathroom.

Alex smiled after him. “You’re not _that_ sexy!”

“Liar,” called Miles from the other room.

Alex had no idea when he’d drifted off to sleep. The last thing he remembered was Miles getting into the bathroom. By the time he woke up, it was still dark but not quite pitch black. It had to be somewhere around morning. He wanted to stretch and tried to move, but a heavy arm was draped over him, anchoring him in place.

Miles’ arm.

Wiggling deeper into his hold, he figured he could stretch later. Right now, cuddling with Miles held the greater allure. Alex was no longer freezing, as he’d done last night. His throat felt a bit sore and his nose was far from fine. But he’d been worse. He knew his own body, despite Miles’ claims to the contrary. Today would be bad, but it’d be over soon.

He sensed movement behind him. Miles stirred. There was some shifting and murmuring. Then the arm around him tightened its grip. “Mornin’”

Alex leaned back, fully resting against Miles’ hard front. “Mornin’ yourself. Sleep well?”

“Mmhh.” He snuggled up to him. Miles’ unshaved, stubbly cheek rubbed against his own. It was a bit rough and it made him giggle for it was ticklish. That, then, became a drawn-out moan when, casually, as though he’d been doing it day after day, Miles kissed him. Right by the corner of his lips. A tiny, sweet kiss. The kind that caused butterflies to go off in Alex’s stomach. The kind that said, ‘you mean so bloody much to me, but it’s barely morning and I don’t the words to express how I feel yet, so I say it with a kiss instead.’ The kind that made Alex gulp hard and close his eyes again, hoping for another one.

And as though Miles could read his thoughts, he straightaway kissed him again. “Feelin’ better?” Sleep still stuck to his voice. It was low and raspy. “Warm enough?”

“M’ perfect,” assured Alex, whispering the words.

He felt the smile as it spread on Miles’ lips. “You are.”

This was getting dangerous. Alex was too content. Too happy. Too tempted to get used to this. What would it be like to wake up in his arms every morning? What would be like going to bed simply knowing that his day would begin this way? He closed his eyes again and tried to imagine it. And then it hit him. He had this. Not with Miles. With his girlfriend. If he called her now, she’d be on her way. She’d kiss him. Go to bed with him. They’d fall asleep and wake up in each other’s arms as they’d done before.

It had been nice before. He’d enjoyed it before. Only, never like this. Experiencing this act with Miles was an entirely different event. He was tempted to say it was more personal. With Taylor, he always was and always behaved like _Alex The Boyfriend_ , like he was performing. He played a role and he played it well. With Miles, he didn’t have to be anybody. Now, more than ever, he was himself in the purest of ways.

Since they’d slept together, maybe even before, something had changed between them. Their bond had grown stronger. At some point, they’d discovered that, no matter what, they’d survive as friends. They’d be able to handle it. Their friendship was _that_ solid.

When he woke up in Miles’ arms, he didn’t have to remind himself that he was the boyfriend and the person in his arms was somebody he cared about. In Miles’ arms, he knew he was Alex and he never forgot that he cared deeply about one holding him close.

Covering Miles’ hand with his own, Alex linked their fingers. “Wanna sleep some more. Will you stay in bed with me?”

“Half asleep already,” mumbled Miles into Alex’s ear.

He drifted back into slumber with a smile.

*

By the time they were on stage in Helsinki, he was feeling better but the last two days had left him depleted of energy and he was grateful that Miles took up most of the entertaining aspects of their performance. Even more, he was thrilled to notice how Miles kept finding ways to be close to him during the songs. Most times, Alex was the troublemaker, constantly seeking him out for a secretive touch or a small caress. Alex loved to fly underneath the radar by being a tiny bit bad, but never bad enough.

Miles wasn’t like him, though. If he felt roguish and wanted to play with Alex, he’d do it right. Nothing half-assed. He’d bloody gone and swiped his fingers straight across his pants-covered crack, center-stage, cloaked only by the dimmed lights long before they’d ever fucked. Alex had been _this_ close to busting up in laughter, not startled by the intimate gesture but by his brazenness! Other times, Miles met his eyes on stage and gave him a look so intense that it knocked the wind right out of his lungs. Where Alex needed an entire song to express a single emotion, Miles only needed a second. And a smile. Tonight, Miles left the naughty side off-stage. His tender gestures undid Alex entirely, though. He’d curl his arm around him, he’d lean in, he’d whisper and check to make sure he was alright. He’d sing directly into his ear, giving their lyrics a whole new level of depth.

“Last song,” Miles told him as he slung the guitar around his neck. “Then we’re done.” He winked.

Alex chuckled as he nodded his head. He might be a little strung out. But he was fine. He was a professional. He’d performed in front of much harder crowds, under less ideal circumstances, with a fever! He wasn’t about to break because of some flu. Miles didn’t need to know that, though. As much as he despised the constant fussing of other people, there was an element of niceness to it when Miles did the fussing.

For one thing, Miles let him sleep in his bed for the last two nights! Not once remarking about the dangers that lurked amongst shared pillows! Alex pondered giving a fake cough to score the third night in Miles’ sheets.

The song came to an end amidst cheering and applause and as he got ready to act, the endeavored cough got stuck in his throat when his eyes landed on the side of the stage.

Taylor.

What was she doing here?

She hadn’t told him she’d show up.

After he’d made it abundantly clear to her that he didn’t like being surprised, she’d apparently gone and done exactly that.

_Fuck!_

There went his night with Miles.

“Bow?” asked Miles, already grabbing his hand.

Alex nodded jerkily. They dipped and lingered, waved, and smiled. And Miles let go to grab his glass to drink. Loren caught up with him and, in an instant, the two of them began laughing about something. He smiled his way when Loren lead Miles off stage. Then Alex hurried off to the other side, to his girlfriend.

“What are you doing here?”

Taylor blinked, clearly hurt. “Wow, weeks of separation and that’s what I get?”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to be an asshole. It wasn’t her fault he was all of sudden stuck in his own hotel room for the night. All he had to do was fucking tell her the truth and break up with her. It was as simple as that. Make a decision. Act on it.

Only, it was far from simple. If he broke up with Taylor, what would that lead to? Miles was still with Hannah as far as Alex knew. He didn’t want him to feel pressured into any sort of rash judgment. If Miles wanted to be with her, it was his choice. And even if he broke up with her and Alex broke up with Taylor, what would that even mean! They couldn’t suddenly date! Be together? That wasn’t the life they lived. Theirs was too complicated for easy solutions and happy endings!

Wasn’t that what Miles had said, all those weeks ago?

“Don’t I get a kiss?”

“Not here.” He guided her away. “You know I don’t like it when people film us.”

“Kiss me here, then,” she said with a grin, dragging him into the dark corner by the cable trunks.

“Tay—”

She grabbed his head and mashed their lips together.

**#Miles**

She was back, then.

He shouldn’t be surprised. It had been a while since he’d seen her, and it had only been a matter of time before she’d show up. It was inevitable, right? She was the girlfriend. She had dips on his lips.

Miles silently slipped away from the side of the stage. He’d come to look for Alex. His friend had a habit of getting caught by fans and because he was such a nice guy at heart, despite his best efforts to excel at being an aloof rock star, he rarely ever managed to leave before all photos were taken and all pictures signed. 

He’d spotted them kissing in a corner and he’d taken that as his clue that she’d been missed by him.

“James, Loren, wait up.” Miles hurried after them. “What’s planned for tonight?”

Zack, sprinting up as well, wrapped his arms around Miles and Loren. “You’re joining us? Alex comin’, too?”

“No, just me,” said Miles, surprised at the reaction. “Taylor got here—”

Loren winced. “Shit, sorry!”

It was getting stranger by the second. “What’s going on?” His steps slowed down as his irritation got worse. “Why are you sorry his girlfriend got here?”

“Uh…you know, you’re right! Don’t mind me,” Loren tried. “I’m buzzed from playing. And from the joint I had earlier. I’m talking shit. Let’s go party, right?”

“I mean it,” repeated Miles, sternly. “What—”

“Nothing is going on.” This time, Zack spoke up. “We’re hitting up this club nearby. Wanna change first? We can drop by the hotel.”

Miles sighed heavily. He wanted answers, explanations for their weird behavior, but he was forced to concede that he wouldn’t get them now. “Yes, I’d like to change!”

“Alright. Come on!”

*

_‘Where are you?’_

Miles looked at his phone, read the message Alex had sent and ignored it. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket, returned his arm around the woman in front of him, and danced on.

“Something important?” she wondered.

He was convinced she had a name. Everybody had one. She’d probably told him, too. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. And he wasn’t about to ask for it. “No. Nothing.” His hands lingered on her waist. Hers were drawn around his neck. If Hannah saw, he’d have some serious explaining to do, even though, technically, he was doing nothing wrong. He hadn’t touched her inappropriately – and she’d certainly wanted him to. He hadn’t led her on in any way. He hadn’t even asked her if she wanted something to drink. But for some reason, they had ended up dancing a little too close. There were worse things in the world, right?

Weirdly enough, when she’d asked him if he had a girlfriend, his first instinct had been to say ‘no’. Regardless of what was going on between him and Alex, he needed to meet up with Hannah and talk. It wasn’t fair to keep going like this.

“That your girlfriend?”

He frowned as he followed her line of sight. “Shit!” Nearby, by the bar, stood a tall blonde with short hair and a murderous look on her face.

They were here. Great.

“That her?” his dance partner asked again, curious and amused.

“No,” uttered Miles, distracted by the even scarier look on the face of the guy standing next to her. “But…” He exhaled harshly. “She’s a friend of hers.” One who would very soon talk to his still-girlfriend and deliver with great detail a situation which she was currently reading completely wrong.

“Oh. Well.” Nameless-woman grinned his way. “We should stop dancing, then. I don’t want to ruin your relationship. Nice meeting you, Miles. Call me when you’re single.” One last wink, then she was gone.

He let go and distantly wondered how he was supposed to call her since he couldn’t remember her giving him his number. Then again, he’d been awfully sidetracked by the fact that he was jealous of his best friend’s girlfriend. So, who knew? Maybe she had given him her number. Much like she’d no doubt given him her name.

“What were you doing?” Taylor marched up to him. Alex stayed behind. “I texted Hannah earlier. She didn’t mention you guys were broken up. And neither did Alex. What the fuck, Miles?!”

His gaze went straight by her, to Alex, who was wise enough not to involve himself into this moment. He addressed her ill-placed fury with an attempt at diffusion. “I was just dancing.”

“It didn’t look like that,” she countered.

His eyes rested unwaveringly on Alex as Taylor kept on berating him. He hardly paid any attention to her. There was a pain in Alex’s eyes and it irritated him. It seemed he was hurt because of what Miles had done but what had he done that was so awful? Really? He hadn’t gone and made out with his girlfriend! He hadn’t gone and kissed somebody else! He hadn’t gone and fu— What if Alex and Taylor had…

_Fuck!_

He felt nauseous. Suffocating. Caught. Wrongly accused. Trapped and confused. “I fucking didn’t do anything wrong,” he snapped, short-tempered, and overwhelmed by this whole moment. Yet, he was unsure whom he was talking to. Was he mad at Taylor for drawing the wrong conclusions or at Alex for…for what, honestly? He quickly made for the exit.

“Miles?!”

He ignored her protest. “Tell her or not. I don’t care! Don’t follow me!” 

The cold night was a welcome reprieve from the dense and hot air that filled the club. Summer had arrived in Finland, too, but this late it was far from warm. He rested against the hard brick wall next to the back exit and took deep breaths. It was a dark alley. He was alone, surrounded by trashcans and distant sounds of a busy city after nightfall. Blowing out a billowy cloud of cigarette smoke, his lids fell shut. Slowly, his mind calmed down. All that chaos from earlier began to make room for a more distant view of things. But what it revealed wasn’t necessarily a finer sight.

His life was a mess.

And he had no idea how to fix it.

Somehow, down the road, he’d fallen in love with his best friend. It was the worst thing that ever happened to him and he had no idea how to deal with it. If that wasn’t bad enough, he had to face this dilemma all by himself since the one person he’d usually turn to in need of help was coincidentally the one guy he couldn’t ask.

The door opened. Miles dropped his head with an annoyed grunt. Not only did he not know how to maneuver this chaos, but he also couldn’t even run away from it! “I said, leave me alone!”

Sounds of boots on pavement filled the quietness as Alex strode up to him. “I wasn’t aware that applied to _me_.”

He wasn’t in the mood for his smart-ass comments. “Go away, Alex.”

“No!”

Eyes opened. As if right back in there, cornered all over again, Miles’ nerves were stretched thin, close to ripping. “Go. Away,” he cautioned. “I can’t talk about this right now!”

Snatching the cigarette from his fingers, Alex did no such thing. “Who says I want you to talk?” He took a drag, then another one.

Even his presence was enough to make him edgy. Miles pleaded. “Alex…go.” He didn’t have the mental capacity to figure any sort of shit out and if Alex kept going, he feared he’d end up saying things he couldn’t take back.

“Just listen. I had no idea she’d show up. I didn’t ask her to come. She stood there, side stage and— Shit, I know you saw us! Loren made a remark and…never mind. _She_ kissed _me_ , Miles! I didn’t—”

He didn’t want to hear it! “It doesn’t fucking matter!”

“It matters to _me_ ,” Alex bit back. “I fucking didn’t kiss her!”

“She’s your girlfriend,” Miles shot back, staring harshly into his eyes as if to strengthen his point. “You’re supposed to kiss her! Don’t talk to me about it right now. Go back and be with her!” He was venting. Unforgiving and loud, though he couldn’t say why. There was no need for a raised voice. And yet, it practically exploded from him. “Be with your fucking girlfriend! Leave me alone!”

“So you can go back to dry-humping other women?”

In a split second, he pushed away from the wall and got into Alex’s face. “Don’t!”

Idiot that he was, Alex didn’t heed Miles’ warning. Not even blinking, he barreled on. “Were you about to cheat on Hannah?!”

Nerves snapped. In one swift move, he had Alex flat against the wall. His chest pressed against that of his friend. His nose dug into his. Eyes were blistering. Hands hovered in the air, right in front of his body. His fingers were curved, knuckles tense. As if frozen, mid-charge. “You think that’s what happened?!” Gone was the loud voice. It was low, now. Seething. A controlled, scathing tone of utter infuriation. “I can’t bring myself to want my own girlfriend,” snarled Miles, teeth clenched. “You think I want some fucking stranger? I _wish_ I’d crave a stranger, Alex. I FUCKING WISH! That would make my life a whole damn easier! I wish—” He stopped when he saw the raging, all-consuming lust that dripped from every pore of Alex’s face.

It disgusted him. Not his lust. But his own reaction to it. The want that befell him. All this energy that was raging through his veins. A heartbeat ago, it had been barely restrained ire. But now? It was bone-crushing, gut-wrenching desire. He gulped hard, attempting to swallow it down. As did Alex. It always was this way. That annoying, unwelcome, unmatched, irresistible crackling in the air between them. The cure to half his troubles, a poison to the rest.

Here he was, losing it because his best friend had kissed his girlfriend. Here he was, mad and sick to his stomach because he knew he was treating his own girlfriend horribly. Here he was, fucking hard because Alex gave him a _look_!

Miles tore himself away. He plastered his body back against the wall, taking deliberate, steady breaths. Hands wiped his face. He felt tired. Exhausted.

They had fooled themselves! They had believed to be above the fallout. But they weren’t. This, right now, _was_ the fallout. This was him, being jealous. He didn’t like it. He didn’t know how to handle it. And he wasn’t all that sure it wouldn’t get crueler in the future.

Alex must have lit himself another cigarette. Miles only noticed because he offered it to him now. A layer of helplessness clung to his body when he spoke up. “We were so resolved to move past all this. What happened?”

He took the cig and sucked on it. What happened? Feelings happened! His gaze fell to Alex’s eyes, which still simmered with heat. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You think you look at me any other way?” asked Alex, defensively. He drove both hands through his hair. An act of frustration. “I don’t _want_ to look at you this way!” The words became sharp. “I didn’t _choose_ this, Miles! You should have _never_ kissed me that night!”

“No!” barged Miles, shaking his head, refusing to take on that blame. “ _You_ should have never come to my place that night! You knew what you were risking when—”

Alex erupted, “You think I came for a fuck?!”

“Bloody think about, Alex!” They glowered at one another. “It didn’t start that night! If it had ended that morning—”

“Yes, if only,” blazed Alex. Bitterly, to Miles’ surprise. “But some of us can’t flip this shit off like it’s a fucking switch!”

Did he look like a guy who’d switched anything off? He was fucking losing his mind! It angered endlessly that Alex believed he was capable of that. Capable of fucking what, anyway? “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

Pulling the cigarette from Miles’ hand in one rough move, Alex dragged hard on it, then stomped it out. He offered one last glare. “Why don’t _you_ think about _that_!” He spun on his heels and headed back in.

Miles whirled around, kicked the wall, and grunted hard. “Fuck, damnit!”

*

He sat at the side of the bar, clutching the glass of whiskey in his hands, watching the ice cubes as they melted. It was a bloody ideocracy, to order hard liquor with ice cubes. They countered the very effect which strong alcohol was supposed to accomplish. It was a silly thought to ponder, but it was either this or his fucked-up friendship with Alex.

Miles stayed with the ice cubes.

His pretty dance partner from earlier sat down on the barstool next to him. “Single yet?” She cocked her brow devilishly. “Want to dance some more?”

In another life, maybe. Miles raised his run-down, heavy head her way and smiled apologetically. “I’m sor—”

“No,” cut Alex in from behind Miles. “He’s _not_ single.”

“Bloody leave me alone,” snarled Miles, wishing he could go back in time. About a minute or so. When melting cubes were his biggest problem.

Alex did, as always, what he wanted. Snaking an arm around Miles, slowly sending his hand up the back of his right shoulder, across the curve, down the front, around his throat where his thumb brushed the skin clandestinely ‘til it finished its torturously languid travel and landed on the left one. When it was done, and Miles was torn between knocking him out for his brazen ignorance of their entire fight from an hour ago and grabbing his head and shoving his tongue so far down into his throat that he could lick his damned tonsils, Alex flashed a smug grin his way. “Just looking out for you.”

The woman got up. “This looks complicated. I’m out.”

 _‘Take me with you,’_ he wanted to call after her. _‘Save me!’_ With a sigh of surrender, Miles roughed Alex’s arm away from himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Alex took over the now-empty seat. “Like I said, I’m looking out for you. You’re drunk. You do dumb shit when you are.”

“Yes,” agreed Miles wholeheartedly and met his eyes squarely. It was late, he was in a piss poor mood, and the drinks had done their part. He no longer bothered with watching his words. “I usually end up fucking _you_.” 

Something flashed over Alex’s face. Was it indignation? Pain? Amusement? It was gone as fast as it had appeared. In the end, Alex snorted impassively. “Not that I give a damn, but somebody might have heard that.”

Maybe he’d freak out about it tomorrow but today he couldn’t care less. Shoulders shrugged. His attention returned to the drink in his hand. The ice cubes had fully dissolved by now. Miles flagged down the bartender. “Take this,” he said, handing him the glass. “Gimme another one. No ice cubes.”

“Make it two,” Alex added.

Did he plan on hanging around? A sideways glance revealed that Alex was slipping out of his jacket, an indication that he was settling in at the bar. Miles fished his credit card from his pocket and handed it to the bartender. “Two glasses.” If he stayed, he needed any help he could get. “And a whole bottle.”

A snicker from Alex. “We got a show on Tuesday.”

“It’s only Saturday.”

“Already Sunday,” corrected Alex.

Miles hurled him the kind of look that said, _‘Bite me.’_

Alex understood perfectly. He raised his hands in defeat. “Let’s get drunk, then.”

Considering he was halfway there when they began, it took no time at all to reach the finish line. A few glasses later, Miles not only couldn’t remember the name from the woman he’d danced with, he was struggling to recall his own name. And Alex’s.

“Go away, Anex.”

“Who is that?”

“What?” Miles squinted.

“Anex,” repeated Alex. “Who is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said it!”

“Said what?” asked Miles, bothered.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Anex!”

“Who is that?”

“Ugh!” Alex tossed his arms up. “How the fuck should I know!”

“It’s worse without ice cubes.” Miles stared forlornly into his empty glass. “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Short hair? Tall?” A chuckle. “Taller than you.”

“She wears heels,” Alex said dryly. “Got into a fight.”

“’bout what?”

“Said somethin’ stupid.”

The great Alex had screwed up? Miles perked. “Yeah?”

Alex grunted. “Told her you already cheated. ‘twas too late to stop you now.”

Was he serious?! “I fucking didn’t cheat on Hannah,” snapped Miles, as offended as he could. “We bloody danced!” A pause. Then he faltered. “Oh.”

“Oh,” mocked Alex. “Yes.”

“Did you tell that _we_ …?”

“Am I an idiot? She’d fucking kill me. She’s taller than me.”

“I thought she wears heels,” Miles goaded.

“Fuck off, will ya?” Grabbing the bottle, Alex held it up and gave it a shake. “Half empty. We’re efficient! She’s taller than you, too, by the way.”

“’Cause she wears heels! What did you mean by it?”

“Heels,” Alex began, “are weird things that are—” He put the bottle away, then hit Miles’ arm, making him turn his way. “You know what heels are!”

“The switch! You said I switched it off. What did I switch off? I didn’t switch anything off. If I did, we wouldn’t sit here right now!” Miles slammed the glass down. “What fucking switch, huh?”

Alex sported a blank look of confusion. Until, like he’d been electroshocked, he jerked, and his eyes widened. “Ah. That.”

Miles nodded somberly. “That.”

“The morning… _that_ morning. The first one. You called it a ‘bad thing’. I didn’t like that. You were so quick to dismiss it. Like it mattered shit to you.” Alex focused on the bottle’s label. “You said we’d fuck it up. How the fuck can say that? You don’t know that! You switched _us_ off!”

“I did not,” protested Miles vigorously. He hadn’t dismissed it. He’d been fucking scared that it had ruined their friendship! How could he think that it didn’t mean anything to him? What they had done? Not just the fucking. The way that touched each other, kissed each other, gazed at each other? He’d never experienced anything remotely like that before. In all of his life! He’d been blown away by it all. Shell-shocked!

He’d been unprepared in any sense of the word.

And Alex had been the one who’d said they needed to stop at once. While Miles had had his arms still wrapped around him! “I wanted to do it again!” he blurted out.

But Alex disagreed. “You told me to leave! You talked about breaks and—”

“What was I supposed to do? Beg? Damnit!” He snatched the bottle from Alex and took a hefty swig directly from it. “You said…” Another one. “Fuck, I don’t remember what you said _precisely_.”

Alex filched the bottle right back. “I wanted to do it again, too.” He, also, drank straight from it. “But what does it matter now, right?”

*

**#Alex**

Locked tightly into Miles’ arms, Alex giggled in drunken amusement as they stumbled down the hallway that led to their respective rooms. It was far into the night. He’d no idea what time it was. He didn’t care, either. Not when Miles was busy placing an endless onslaught of tiny, fiery, fierce kisses to his lips. Again and again, over and over. Smooches. Pecks. They lasted never more than a second or two.

It was a relentless shelling of affection. An endless display of craving for one another. But unless Alex found a precedent – and _soon_ – it would remain a vastly unsatisfying experience, considering Miles took this damned ‘loopholes’-thing irksomely strict! “Bloody _kiss_ me already!” He clawed his fingers into Miles’ short hair, wanting, _needing_ his tongue and his passion and that much more!

“I am kissing you,” contested Miles stubbornly, doing exactly that. Peck after peck after peck.

Alex rolled his eyes between sighs and chuckles. “Come on!” They arrived in front of Miles’ room. “One kiss. For the night!” He was begging. He knew. He kept going. “Please!”

“But we said—”

“I fucking know what we said,” retorted Alex, giving him a shove, pushing him up against the door. “Ignore what I said! I talk shit. Too much so!”

“It was very reasonable,” Miles objected. “Made much sense to me!”

Great. The one time he made sense, it had to be _that_ time! Alex leaned up, pressed his lips to Miles’ unbending ones, and let out a loud and protesting rumble. As he did so, however, something else became remarkably apparent. Miles was hard. Very nicely so. Looking down, brows quirked with avid interest, Alex grinned. “We’re getting somewhere.”

“No, we’re not,” laughed Miles, following Alex’s view. “You said we’d only do what we’ve done before. We haven’t had sex before.”

“We did some grinding,” Alex remembered conveniently. “That one time. In the club.”

“What? When?” asked Miles, clearly unconvinced. He observed him warily.

“Years ago. That Halloween party? Lasted an entire song!”

Miles’ cheeks flushed scarlet as he attempted to get out of Alex’s hold. “You said you didn’t remember anything from that night!”

“Well, I lied,” retorted Alex testily, not letting go. He was rock-fucking-hard and in dire need of some action, lest he wanted to die from his blue-balls-predicament! If that meant admitting to some drunken sexual curiosity, so be it. “I knew it was you, alright? I noticed our ring on your hand. I had a lot to drink,” he elaborated, trying to justify his actions. “You stood behind me. I felt it. _You_. Wanted to know what it’d feel like…you know? You were wasted off your ass! You could have stopped me! You never did!”

“It felt nice,” muttered Miles. He was embarrassed, Alex could tell. His eyes darted from point to point, searching for something to distract himself with. His hands were wiggly and they were hard to entwine with, which only made Alex try that much harder. The crimson hue on his cheeks had intensified. And his brows danced oddly around his big orbs, as though he was having a vivid discussion with himself inside his head.

Hands locked, Alex lifted them up and brought ‘em to rest on each side of Miles’ face. Then he leaned in, bumping his nose against that of his friend. “It did feel nice. Exciting.”

“Something secret,” Miles said.

“So…we did some grinding before we had sex.” Possibilities presented themselves. Detangling one hand from his, Alex slipped it into Miles’ pocket and fished for the room key, all the while keeping a firm grasp of his gaze which he’d captured at last. He found what he’d looked for and unlocked the door.

Shade by shade, layer by layer, Miles’ brightly lit eyes darkened as stormy clouds of arousal brought a vibrant black to his orbs. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Miles was kissing him. Really, truly, kissing him. Tongue and all.

Alex wailed in delight. “Fucking finally,” he muttered into the lip-lock that quickly morphed into a wet act of tongues dueling for dominance. His hands fumbled with the buttons of Miles’ shirt. “Stop wearing this shit!” All out of patience, he tore it apart.

“Thought you liked it.” Miles threw his head back.

Alex immediately went for his throat. “Like it when I got time. Not when it’s been days since I had you!” Wait. Did Miles dress up for him? Did he wear those tight white shirts because Alex liked how well they clung to his fine features? Warm sensations buzzed inside his stomach.

When had it become so bad? He’d gone weeks without Taylor. He’d gone weeks without sex between relationships. He’d never struggled before. He’d never been overpowered by this sort of raging yearning for somebody. What was so different about Miles that Alex was unable to keep his hands to himself?

The second the door closed behind them, Alex had him up against the nearest wall, rubbing himself against him. He took pride in the sounds that he drew from him. He was spurred on the howls and mewling moans and the purring that vibrated from deep inside his throat when he kissed his neck. Miles loved having his neck kissed, much like Alex did. They were playful, spirited and mischievous. Always had been. It was evident in their songs; in the way they were as friends. And it translated into their lovemaking.

Twirled around by Miles, Alex felt his legs wedged apart as his friend, his lover nestled between them. They were kissing like maniacs, making up for all the days and weeks which they had lost. Some serious frotting took place, some that put that harmless bit of rubbing from years ago to great shame.

Miles’ hands were hot on the hem of Alex’s shirt, roughing it up. “Babe, a little help,” he demanded.

Alex raised his arms up high. And once his upper body was bare, he fisted Miles’ belt and pulled hard, bringing their cocks right back into contact. “Kiss me!” When had he become such a sucker for that? “Kiss me hard!”

Miles did.

They were frantically moving against another, rubbing, squeezing, groping, touching, licking, biting, moaning. It was a frenzied act. Rushed and in lieu of any elegance. But it got the fucking job done. Alex’s legs began to buckle when the orgasm hit him. He dug his hands into Miles’ ass as deftly as he could and grinned in triumph when his friend shuddered and shook inside his arms, flying off into the clouds right alongside him.

“God,” growled Alex, drifting back to earth, a lazy grin resting casually on his flushed face. “I needed that!” That, and so much more. Fingers curled around Miles’ belt once more. He gave it a tug. “Bed. Now.”

Whereas the orgasm had fired Alex up even more, it seemed it had put a damper on Miles’ lust. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

Undeterred, he kept his grip on him. Moved them across the room. “Why?”

“You’re still recovering,” Miles told him, slowing down. “You practically spent the last two days in bed. We got to leave for the airport later. We got into a fight. We got drunk. We—”

“You’re fucking kidding me right now.”

“M’not.”

“I don’t believe this.” Alex stared at him, jaw dropped. “Miles, I’m serious. I’m bloody fine! To be honest, if we do some actual fucking, I’ll be even better.” The grip on his belt became a hard fist and he towed roughly. Artfully twirling around, he had him in front of the bed and shoved.

Miles fell backward. “You want to do something nice for me? Strip. Now.”

“I’m serious! I won’t have sex with you. Besides, we didn’t have sex before we had sex so we can’t have sex now.” His hand went to his head and he rubbed his forehead. “I think I’m getting a headache. I shouldn’t have done away with the ice cubes…”

“Un-Fucking-Believable!”

“What?”

“You,” fumed Alex. “You kissed me!”

“Yes! Shit, I shouldn’t have done that, either. You made me do it!”

“Better believe I did. And ‘twas a fucking hard job at that!” Hands went to the snap of his jeans. He undid them and shimmied out. Sex or not, he was staying the night. Alex climbed onto the bed and sprawled out next to Miles. “Want to take my temperature?”

Miles snorted loudly. “Why does everything you say sound so bloody dirty?”

“Talent and effort,” quipped Alex. He flung a grin his way. “I mean it.” He rolled to his side and watched as his hand stretched out across Miles’ abs. “Why don’t you take out that long thermometer of yours and put it very deep into—”

Miles cut him off with a rough and quick kiss. “Stop it. I’m trying to do the right thing here!”

Fucked up and annoying as it was, Alex recognized that. And he bloody loved him even more for it. Eyes lingered on his face. He spotted the torn thoughts that clouded his orbs and dimmed his mind. There was a layer of fatigue clinging tenaciously to his chiseled features. He pulled his hand from Miles’ stomach and brought it to his cheek, giving it a gentle caress. “Stop worrying so much.” He lowered his head, lightly kissed his lips.

It made a smile appear.

Reaching for the blanket, Alex covered them both before reaching over and yanking on Miles’ shoulder. “Come on.” He did it again. “Cuddle up. I know you want to.”

“No sex,” muttered Miles as he rolled into Alex’s arms.

“Swear. Just sleep.”

 _For now,_ thought Alex. _For now._


	7. What Are You Doing?

**Part 7 “What Are You Doing?”**

**Alex**

**Helsinki**

“What are you doing?” murmured Alex, worn down by tired bones, surprised by the huskiness of his voice. He put no genuine care into his question. He knew all too well what Miles was doing. He merely asked in an attempt at acknowledgment. If anything, Alex was astonished he was doing it at all. Wearing a lazy grin that widened on his cheeks as he felt himself being rolled onto his back, he allowed Miles to do with him as he pleased. His friend’s weight made his frame dig further into the mattress. Hot lips seared Alex’s neck with red glowing marks of lust. And a breathless chuckle slipped from his throat when he felt fingers wrapping around his cock, greeting his morning wood with an eager salute. “’tis a nice way of waking up.”

He loved it, waking up with Miles. It was exciting. He never knew what to expect and which version of his friend would await him. Would it be serious and strict Miles? The guy with a secure grip on rules, whose feathers Alex loved to ruffle by acting ruthless and undisciplined? Or would it be passionate Miles? The guy with a mouth worth a billion bucks and talent for using his dick in the naughtiest of ways? Maybe it'd be snuggle-Miles. He of the warm, tight hugs and languid kisses. Or mean Miles? The one that always appeared when he'd had a turbulent, uneasy night, and whose grumpy state no doubt made for wild and rough fucking? He’d yet to wake up next to that version. He hoped to do it soon.

The hand on his cock got greedier and it quickened its pace.

“If I keep my eyes closed and pretend that I'm dreaming, we're not breaking the rules, are we?”

Passionate Miles it was. Alex giggled against his lips as he pondered that loophole that, to his own bewilderment, he’d not thought of before. Arms curled around Miles and Alex fixed him into place. “You be good and keep your eyes shut. I don't mind breaking the rules. I'll watch for both of us.” Harsh, bright sunlight lit the hotel room and his gaze landed on the alarm clock next to the bed. Almost noon. “Shit.” He slanted his hips, getting restless. “Put a rush on it, babe! We got a flight to catch!”

“Ah. How long do we have?” Miles upped the tempo, wrestled with the briefs that Alex still wore.

“Car leaves in an hour.” He arched up, giving him more space to make use of. “Let's go for good and do nice later.”

Teeth sank into Alex's earlobe, making him shudder, willfully accepting the challenge. “Want it fast and dirty?”

“Yes!”

“Top or bottom?”

So many questions! “Want it—”

A knock on the door. Then muffled words. A female voice. “Miles?” It was Taylor. “You're in there? Is Alex with you? He didn't come back last night.”

As the grunt roared from Alex's throat, Miles was off and halfway out the bed already, grabbing his robe on the way. “Takin' a shower.”

_Damnit!_

“Miles!” Alex hissed in vain. The bathroom door slammed shut, the dull noise a marked ending to an ill-timed idea.

Another groan. Hands wiped across his face. Then he tossed the sheets away and headed for the door. As he reached for the handle, his state of arousal suddenly struck him as unfortunate. Not only was Miles no longer in the mood to fool around with anymore. It'd be a tough task explaining it to his girlfriend. He sprinted back, grabbed the sheet, and wrapped it around himself like a toga. Then he pulled the door open. “T, sorry. Should've called.”

“Called?” Her eyes went wide. Anger flared up. “How 'bout coming back? I fucking flew halfway across Europe to see you and you get shitfaced with your friend, whom you've been spending every fucking day with for months now?!” Hip cocked, arms crossed, she stared at him. Her usually delicate lines had become ridges of fury. “I thought you'd be happy to see me.”

Alex tugged the sheet back over his shoulder. The fabric kept slipping away, almost as if gravity itself wanted to reveal his secret to the world. “It's the last days of the tour. I'll be home soon. We'll see each other then.”

Unhappiness became hurt. “Maybe.” Her voice fell flat against his distracted ears. “I'm not so sure about that, yet. I'm not feeling all that missed.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Lie and declare his undying love for her? Grab her and kiss her? In the distance behind him, he heard running water and felt the itching in his fingers. An unyielding need to strip bare and slip into the shower, to demonstrate Miles where his priorities lay.

“Silence?” Taylor shook her head, upset. “That's all I get? I'm threatening to leave you and you don't even say a single fucking thing? Fuck you, Alex!” She turned around and left.

_Alex The Boyfriend_ would have hurried after her, made up some well-versed line about love and its tumbles and he'd have coaxed that happy sparkle back on her face in an instant. _Just Alex_ closed the door, dropped the sheet and his briefs, and headed for the shower.

The water no longer ran. By the time he entered the bathroom, Miles stood there, dripping wet, reaching for a towel. Alex pulled it out of his reach. “I like you wet.” Not offering him the chance to escape again, he grabbed his head and kissed him. It took some persistence and a gentle bite or two into his lower lip but, eventually, Miles gave in. And then it turned rigorous. The droplets of water made their bodies slick and rub easily along one another. The friction was insane. Two hard cocks met with matching hunger. “Fucking need you,” Alex howled.

“Alex…” Miles' arms wrapped around him, all the way. The kisses got filthier as their moans got louder. There was thrusting. Hips jerked.

Until Alex stopped it all. “No!” One hand grabbed Miles' neck and he tilted his head; met his lost eyes. “None of that, hear me? I want you and you want me. We're fucking grown-ups, Mi. Enough with the games.” The other hand linked with his. “We're going back to bed. We'll have sex. And we won't pretend that it's the last time 'cause you and I both know that's a lie. There won't ever be a last time between us! There—”

His words got cut off by Miles' kiss. And of all the kisses they'd shared up to that point, this was his favorite one. There was nothing playful about it, nothing cheeky, nothing calculated. It was pure and raw and a kiss in its finest form. It was Miles’ way of resoundingly agreeing with everything Alex had said. It was an affirmation, proof that theirs was an attraction too powerful to reign in.

They stumbled back to bed and did exactly what Alex had predicted.

**2011**

_“What are you doing?”_

_Miles’ clasp on Alex was fierce and his arms hooked around his shoulders displaying no mercy. Cheeks touched. Chests pressed together. Thighs, too. Alex felt the vibrations of his friend’s chuckle against his skin as puffs of respiration collided with his neck. The last part was intimate and oddly irritating since it did strange things to him. It suddenly felt as if flames licked up his skin. It certainly wasn’t the sort of thing he’d expected to experience in the arms of his best mate._

_“It’s commonly referred to as a hug,” elaborated Miles, entirely unaware of Alex’s preoccupied mind, adding that, “You’re supposed to return it.”_

_Pulling his head back, catching Miles’ crinkling eyes – his friend considered himself a real funny one – Alex snorted. “Not gonna!” His hands and arms hung stiff by his sides. Motionless. That peculiar and abnormal heat was one reason. For now, he blamed it on some crossed wires in his head, thereby dismissing it as something not to be worried about. Miles’ intention was the other explanation for his frigid state._

_Eyes rolled. Miles sighed. “You told me your girlfriend broke up with you. I’m being a friend here!” He clutched him again, putting some muscle into it, as if to convey a message of sorts. As if to cuddle him into surrender._

_Alex had none of it. Wriggling, he attempted to escape. “Bugger off!” He wrestled free and sidestepped Miles’ arms in a swift move, marching into the apartment and straight toward Miles’ couch. “M’not dying. It’s a bloody breakup. Besides, it’ll serve me well writing new shit.” A full bag of gummy bears lay on the table and he claimed it as he sat down._

_The scoff Miles let out as he closed the door reeked of disbelief. He followed him into the apartment. “If you say so.” As he sat down next to Alex, he crossed his legs and settled in. His arm shot out, filching the bag from his hand. “Those are mine!”_

_With a look of outrage on his face, Alex protested, “But…I’m all heartbroken!” He was. Getting hugged Miles had felt kinda nice. Sincere and that. It was the reason he’d come to him in the first place. Alone, at home, the large apartment had mocked him with its silent rooms and emptied drawers. He wasn’t surprised that his relationship had come to an end. He’d seen the clues lining up along the road. Nonetheless, it had hurt. Still did. And it was an unusual kind of pain. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he wouldn’t have minded if Miles had hugged him again, that irritating heat notwithstanding._

_But he didn’t want Miles to think he was some sad sap in need of emotional support._

_His friend, meanwhile, munched away. Alex’s gaze traveled from the bag of gummy bears to those brows of his that crooked into a goading arch. The little shit was taunting him! In a split second, Alex tackled him, jumped him, gave him no chance to prepare. A short skirmish later, he sat back, firmly clutching the bears. His prize. “I need ‘em more than you do.”_

_“Like you said,” declared Miles, disagreeing as he recuperated from his battlefield loss by straightening out the wrinkles in his shirt, “you’re not dying!” Clothes rearranged back into order, he glared at him. “Give ‘em back!”_

_“No!”_

_“Alex!”_

_“Fuck off!”_

_“You know, our moms would tell us to share.”_

_Eyes met. Then garrulous laughter. Alex raised his leg, pulled his knee high, using it as a barrier against Miles, who came in hot from the side. Both were toughing around on the couch, pillows dropped to the floor, hands tore on the bag, and then? An explosion of bears amongst a loud burst of two people cracking up._

_Miles inspected the carnage. “Got the damn bears everywhere now!”_

_Alex reached out and began picking ‘em up. Eating each one he found. “Happens when you get all selfish! I’m here, wounded and bleeding, and you got nothing better to do than make a fuss over some sugar!”_

_“Oh, play the victim, will ya?” Miles huffed. “That was my dinner!”_

_“That’s just sad,” remarked Alex, only to freeze and raise his eyes in dread. “Are you telling me you got nothing else in the house? No meat, no bread, no—”_

_“Not a single crumb of bread,” Miles confirmed._

_“Fuck! Should have gone to my mom instead,” groveled Alex. Agreeing, his stomach grumbled in solidarity. Nevertheless, he was here now and refused to step out into the cold London night again. He kicked off his shoes. “Order pizza?”_

_“Sure.” Miles grabbed something from the coffee table and handed it to Alex. “Menu. New place across the street. That should mean quick delivery. I want extra bell peppers.”_

_“Tsk! We went over this the last time, Mi. You’re not supposed to get extra ‘healthy stuff’, you go big with the bad shit. We’ll get extra cheese. That’s a dairy product. I mean, milk is good, right?” He took out his phone and dialed the number. And then he spent five minutes ordering a pizza the size of five. When it was done, he gave the guy Miles’ address and hung up. “Fifteen minutes.”_

_“Sounds good.”_

_Tossing the phone away, Alex pulled his legs up and got comfortable. As much as Miles’ curious look allowed it, that was. His eyes were prying and sharp, dissecting his face and drilling for cracks. “You’re staring.” He said it, hoping that being called out on it would make him stop. It didn’t._

_Curiosity morphed into concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”_

_“No.” He didn’t. What was to say? That he’d been too busy? That his girlfriend felt underappreciated? That she wanted a guy she could go on adventures with, instead of waiting for flakes of free time to fall at her feet? Alex shrugged. “’Twas inevitable.”_

_“Is it, like, over-over? Or is there hope?”_

_“She told me I could call if my life changed. Why does my life have to change?” That remark, tossed at him on her way out, had left a bitter taste. “It won’t change. I don’t have a nine to five job! She knew from the start!”_

_“You weren’t Alex Turner when you got together,” Miles pointed out._

_Alex frowned, eyebrows inching toward another. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you taking her side?” He knew they were friends. But Miles was his best mate, his other half, his guy. His loyalty should be with him! “Are you saying it’s my fault?”_

_“It’s nobody’s fault,” stated Miles, moving his head from side to side. He put his hand on Alex’s arm. It startled him. He stared at the spot where their bodies touched. Like windblown, simmering sparks had landed on his skin and now burned their way through it._

_“I guess I just find it sad,” Miles continued. “She was there when you got big.”_

_“So were you,” noted Alex, tackling that damned blaze by extinguishing it with a derisive snort. “You have no trouble with my busy life.”_

_“I’m not your boyfriend!”_

_“Thank God for that!” Alex weighed the idea and shuddered at the thought. “Imagine it, Mi. You and I?” Just thinking about it made him laugh. “We’d bloody kill each other.”_

_“Over groceries and gummy bears!”_

_“Not just that! You need ages to get ready. Much longer than she did! You never let me cancel on shit. You always get mad when I try! You insist I call you once a week, which is fucking ridiculous—”_

_“It is not! You don’t call if I don’t make you! You tend to forget that there’s life outside your bubble.”_

_“I’m not_ in _a bubble.”_

_“Yes, you are. And you know it. When you tour, you’re stuck inside your band and your group of people you tour with and, sure, you toss me the occasional text, but time flies and you don’t realize it. Remember one time? You didn’t call for over a month!”_

_Not because he’d forgotten, recalled Alex, keeping that part to himself. Miles had just started dating some dove and the one time he did call he’d done so at a very inopportune time. Sure, his friend had picked up and he’d been happy to hear his voice – at least he’d told him so – but he also hadn’t hidden the fact that he’d been rather in the middle of something. Alex had hung up and not called again._

_It had been one of those rare few occasions when it was made clear to Alex that he wasn’t number one on Miles’ list of people he cared about._

_“I call you regularly now.”_

_“I love that!” To prove it, Miles flashed him a smile. “You’re my best mate. I want to know what’s going on in your life. I call you, too, to tell you stuff. I mean it, you know? About her? If you want to talk…”_

_“I really don’t,” assured Alex. His stomach rumbled louder. “Where’s the damn pizza?”_

_“On its way.”_

_Later that night, with a stomach that was full and a mind that refused to surrender to sleep, Alex lay on top of Miles’ bed, sprawled out on the bedding like a kid in the snow, making snow angels._

_Miles dropped his jeans with a chuckle. “It’s past midnight and I’m tired. Go home or make some room.”_

_Alex rolled to his side. With one arm bent, he propped his head up upon it. Eyes remained on his friend as he waited for him to undress further. Would Miles do it? He didn’t look away, daring him, in a sense, to go ahead as he tried to remember how he’d ended up in Miles’ bed in the first place. There had been some fiddling around with the guitars. After a while, Alex had gotten bored. Miles had strummed on as Alex had gone on a hunt for something interesting to do or discover. His quest had led him into the bedroom where he’d found Miles’ journal._

_Ah, right! He’d gotten nosy and plopped down on the bed to skim through it. It had been useless, though. No new songs inside. Miles, damn him, must have used a different one for his latest lyrical endeavors. He had bunches of journals. One in every room, on every shelf, in every bag, and in every guitar case. In case inspiration hit him._

_“You’re bloody unorganized,” Alex had admonished his ever-growing pile of notebooks not too long ago. “What if you start in one, want to twiddle with it, but can’t remember which one you used?”_

_“What if I start in one, then lose it? Like you do constantly?” Miles had tossed back at him._

_To his defense, it didn’t happen_ all the time _. Just once. Maybe twice. Rhetorical genius that he was, Alex had dismissed that objection with adequate logic. “Whatever!”_

_Getting lost on memory lane, Alex paid only vague attention to Miles as he changed into his pajamas. “Why do you suppose she gave up on us? I mean…” What did he mean? He searched his brain for an answer. “Like, you keep…” Blowing out a breath, Alex squinted against the confusion inside his head. “You don’t let me get away with shit. She did.”_

_Crawling into bed, Miles pulled the cover up to his nose and faced Alex. “Al…did you ever ask her not to go?”_

_“What do you mean by that?”_

_“When she broke up, did you ask her to stay? Did you ask her to give you a second chance? Did you tell her that you loved her and want to make it work?”_

_“Well…no.” Brows furrowed. “Why would I? She told me she was done. What’s the point, then?” People made choices. If one didn’t want to do something, one shouldn’t do something. If one wanted to do something, one should commit to that. She had decided to leave._

_“People like it when you ask ‘em to stay. Makes ‘em feel wanted. Appreciated.”_

_“You don’t need me to tell you that.”_

_Miles rolled onto his back and sank into the pillow. “Yeah, but we’re different. This,” he said, darting his finger from Alex to himself and back, “is a unique thing. Also, as I said, I’m not your girlfriend.”_

_Each time Miles said it, a new reason popped up in Alex’s head to remind him why that was a good thing and why they’d never work out as a couple. But it only now struck him, as he lay in the dark room, in bed, next to his friend, that none of those reasons ever touched down on the obvious, which was: Miles was a guy. He should devote some time to that and mull it over, he decided. But he’d do it some other day. Maybe soon, maybe on a rainy day, when there was nothing else to do._

_For now, his head had done enough thinking. Kicking off his shoes, he curled his arm beneath his head and nestled in. “I don’t like it when relationships get complicated.”_

_“Does anybody?”_

_“Feels like inspiration might hit me tonight.” Just as Alex had found the perfect spot to rest in, Miles jolted him out of his position by sitting up and roughing on the cover. Alex glowered at him through the darkness. “What the hell?”_

_“Bloody climb under blanket, will ya? You gonna get sick and I’m out of chicken.”_

_“You’re out of anything,” complained Alex. Still, he scooted under the covers. Once more, his arm curled under his head. He leaned down. And groaned. “This is the left side of the bed.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I usually sleep on the right side.”_

_“I don’t care.”_

_“But—”_

_“You wanna sleep on the right side, you do it at home. Your choice.”_

_“Whatever,” his rhetorical prowess countered. “As I said, I might have to write something tonight. Giving you a heads-up. I’ll be using your journal. Forgot where I put mine.” That annoyed grunt that came from Miles’ side of the bed, Alex ignored. “Deal with it!”_

_“What are you doing?”_

_Alex stirred, startled by the question thrown his way. Miles had posed it. He recognized that accent, that thick drawl in his voice, which was coated generously with sleep and ripe with amusement. Plucking his eyes open, wondering what Miles found so bloody odd that he had to wake him up because of it, Alex discovered himself glued to the back of his friend. His entire body was attached to him, top to bottom. Shoulders aligned, his dick – thank God is was still asleep! – was snug against Miles’ butt, and his right thigh was wedged between Miles’ firm legs. Alex’s arms were strapped around him as though they were a damned rope, tying him up._

_Shaken by it, Alex scrambled back, away from him. Hands flew to his head, first wiping his face, then running through his tangled, messed up hair. “Fuck, sorry!”_

_Shifting onto his stomach, greeting him with a smirk so wide that it made Alex roll his eyes, Miles winked. “Sleep well,_ darlin’ _?”_

_“Fuck off. Was asleep. Didn’t realize I was—”_

_“Snuggling in?”_

_The prick was getting a fucking kick out of this! Alex was irate. “Leave me alone!” Maybe he’d handle it better if the whole thing hadn’t felt so damn good. But it did and it messed with his head. Made him cross and confused, unable to shrug it off._

_“Come back,” cooed Miles with a shit-eating grin. “Need ya!”_

_Alex flipped him off._

_“What’s wrong?” Miles sat up as well, a little less entertained and a bit more sympathetic to Alex’s early-morning struggles. “Not like it’s the first time that happened.”_

_“_ You _fall asleep in my arms all the time ‘cause you’re weird like that and fall asleep everywhere.” He’d fall asleep on a moving unicycle if he knew how to ride it in the first place. “I don’t!” What did it say about himself that he’d gotten some hella fine sleep cuddled up against his best mate? Should he worry about that?_

_Leaning against the headboard, wiping the last of the sleep from his eyes, Miles glanced his way. “Alex, what’s going on with you? You get all antsy when I hug you. You don’t want to talk about Alexa, you freak out over this? You know how many times I pinched your ass just to rattle you? I’ve lost count and never managed! Got a feeling you’d jump up a tree if I did it now.”_

_Fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, avoiding looking at Miles directly, Alex raised and lowered one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “I don’t mind that she’s gone,” he admitted then. His tone was quiet and he was ashamed. Their relationship had lasted years. He ought to feel something, shouldn’t he? But there was nothing. Not even that. Only indifference. “It’s like…okay…that she’s gone. M’supposed to miss her. Or be sad about it.” He’d wanted to write, since breakups always left him in the mood for that. Nothing came, however. No line, no tune, not a single note. “I don’t care that she left. Just…I can’t be home. She used to be everywhere in that place and now she took all her stuff with her and the apartment…it’s too empty. Like all of what made it a homey place is gone. And I realize that I really don’t own anything that makes apartments homey. Just guitars and records. And I didn’t hug you ‘cause I don’t need a hug.” He wasn’t hurt that she’d left him. He was hurt that she’d left him behind. Alone. With nothing but his thoughts._

_Miles looked at him for a bit. And then, to Alex’s complete and utter surprise, he flung himself to the side, toward him, and hugged him. “You’re a horrible liar.” His head rested against Alex’s shoulder, one arm around his neck, the other across his stomach, and for a while, neither one moved. “You hate that she left because you hate being alone.”_

_“I don’t,” protested Alex, sounding petulant._

_“You do,” insisted Miles. “That still doesn’t explain why you freaked out over our little snuggle but—”_

_“I didn’t freak out!”_

_“Wanna snuggle again?”_

_“You are such a dick!”_

_“You love me anyway.”_

_It was senseless. As Alex watched his best mate lying against his arm like it was his spot and neither earthquake nor gummy bears could get him to leave it, he gave up fighting him. And deep down, where nobody else except his deepest, most private thoughts lived, he conceded that it felt rather nice having him that close. Miles’ body was warm and heavy and anchored Alex not just in bed but also in life. He’d always be there and he’d never abandon him._

_The thought made him smile._

_“You’re an awful hugger,” judged Alex. “You know that?”_

_“Again,” Miles said, his voice dry, “if you returned it, it’d a better hug!”_

_“Hold on!” Something Miles said earlier suddenly echoed in his head. “You pinch my ass to get a reaction out of me? So, next time you do and I punch you for it, that means you’ll stop forever?”_

_The idea got him to laugh. “Try it. Taking boxing lessons, now.” As he said it, a yawn escaped him. “’tis early. We should sleep some more.” He sat back, then shimmied back underneath the cover. “Wake me later. Unless you want some snuggling.”_

_Alex rolled his eyes. Turned around. And slid down, into that familiar, tangled chaos of pillows and cover, to drift off. Half asleep, unable to distinguish between proper and improper thoughts anymore, he had to admit that, when it came to snuggling, Miles did fit better into his arms than his ex-girlfriend had done. Maybe he ought to reserve some time to mull that over as well._

_Soon._

_Someday._

**Miles**

**August**

**En Route from Germany to Belgium**

“What are you doing?”

Miles’ arms were hovering around Alex, his hands covering his, and his cheek pressed against that of his best mate. “Careful.” The words were hushed. Lips kept feathering against his skin. A persistent smile adhered to his face as he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying this moment. “Ooh, watch out. Critical moment!”

In his embrace, Alex laughed as he tried to pay attention to the task at hand. “Good?”

“A few more seconds.”

“’tis pretty hot! You sure? Looks done.”

“Trust me, a moment. Focus!” advised Miles, figuring it’d be smart to follow his own advice. It’d be easier to do that if the little shit in front him stopped wiggling his ass against Miles’ eager bits. “Quit it!”

Alex shook his head. The shaggy strands of hair tickled Miles’ unshaven chin. “You like it, admit it.”

“I like scrambled eggs done right,” hissed Miles. He knew they weren’t alone in the kitchenette. He was aware of varying voices; idle chatter that took place in the background. But these days, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Ever since leaving Helsinki, he and Alex had spent every spare second together in bed. Or out of bed. Dressed, half-dressed, undressed, up and down, wet and dry, having sex, making out, or just reveling in each other’s company.

“This tour is almost over,” Alex had said. “Who knows what will happen then. So, if this is all we have, let’s just make the most of it!”

And, for now, they did. Miles leaned it and sank his teeth into Alex’s right earlobe. Quick and subtle, or so he thought.

“Naughty,” chuckled Alex, slamming his elbow into Miles’ ribs. “Stop!”

He did, laughing, only to jolt. “Oh no! The eggs, move ‘em off the stove.”

“See, that’s what you get. Burnt!”

“Not yet,” he said, wincing as he inspected the mess. “The dark spots…we can eat around ‘em. Yeah?”

Alex spun around, coming face to face with him. Noses almost, _almost_ touched. He held the pan in his hand and brought it up, the scent hitting Miles’ nostrils. “Sure?”

“Or not?”

“No,” Alex agreed. Then tilted his head, seeing past Miles, addressing Loren and Zack. “Anyone interested in burnt eggs?”

“Let me ask again,” Zack spoke, forehead creased. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Burning eggs,” quipped Miles.

A snicker from Alex. “We’re good at it.”

“I can smell that! No, I mean… _that_!” His hand gesticulated towards them. “This, like, hugging-thing you got going on? You’re a thing now?”

Miles didn’t know how to respond. He’d feared their sneaking around might have caught their bandmates’ attention, but he hadn’t expected them to address it in such a public, straight-forward manner. Glancing Alex’s way, trying to gauge his reaction, he saw a casual shrug rolling from his shoulder.

“We are what we are. No explanations. Deal with it.” And to hit that point home, Alex spun Miles’ way and smacked an explicit and irrevocably intimate kiss on his lips.

With a nonchalance that staggered Miles, Alex let up, and went on to dispose of the burnt remains inside the pan. Miles, meanwhile, brought his hand up to his lips and tried to trace the impact crater the kiss had left behind. It had happened so fast. Like it was something that had taken place a million times before. Was this something they did, now? Kissing in public? Or, at least, in front of their friends? Well, to be fair, he’d nibbled on his ear way before Alex had laid one on him.

Zack and Loren seemed far less irritated by at all that than Miles felt.

“Move,” ordered Alex. The pan was clean again and he grabbed the carton of eggs. “Let’s try again. You should keep your hands to yourself this time,” he suggested with a sly grin. “I’m gettin’ hungry!”

For some time, Miles observed in silence as Alex made breakfast. He looked different these days. Relaxed and at peace. A small part of it liked to imagine that it was their strange, new relationship which put that ever-present smile on his lips. But he didn’t dare allow himself that thought. It was a dangerous one to have. And their days were already numbered. Sooner, rather than later, they’d have to part ways and say goodbye. Maybe it was that knowledge that made Alex not care for people’s opinions. And maybe it was time for Miles to follow his lead. Suddenly saddened by a reality that raced closer with each white line that disappeared beneath the wheels of their bus, he leaned in despite his hesitations and pressed his lips to Alex’s. “Are you happy?”

“I am.” Alex turned his way, nose scrunched. “Are you alright? You look…sad. Are you?”

“No,” he lied. And he could tell that Alex knew it. He kissed him again. That smile which had been irremovably glued to his face a minute ago, he now had to force back up. “M’just hungry.”

Alex wanted to push him for a different answer. They were friends long enough for Miles to see it in his eyes. And it was because of that long friendship that Alex didn’t do so. Instead, he reached up, brushed his fingers over Miles’ cheek and nodded. “Almost done.”

_What a sad truth_ , thought Miles. _Almost done._


	8. The End Of The Road

**Alex**

Alex hopped up the counter of the small kitchenette as the bus rounded into Paris. A pencil sat between him and the sink and in an effort to busy his ever-restless fingers he began playing with it. Empty hands had always been a bane for him. He hated having nothing to wrap his fingers around, which, he figured, was the reason the guitar was his favorite instrument on stage. It busied both hands. Next to that were the keys. However, they demanded more attention for it had only been in recent years that he’d discovered his passion for them. They were a complicated mess, the ivory rectangles. Always luring him in to venture off the desired road. Aiming his eyes at Miles, watching him follow his most beloved activity, he snickered. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Miles sat on the bench by the table, busy making quick work of a bowl of cereal. Alex’s keen observation of the time made him look up with a grin. “That supposed to tell me something? Like, maybe, stop eating?”

“As if anyone could make you stop eating,” Alex pointed out, his tone carrying the wisdom of somebody who’d tried and failed many times. “That’s the fifth meal today, is it? How on earth do you keep your damn abs intact?”

“Sex.”

Alex knew for a fact that it was a lie. Yes, they were fucking like bunnies on speed, but they were having sex _with each other_ and that meant Alex got the same workout out of it that Miles got. Only, unlike his partner in crime, he couldn’t eat an entire jumbo plate of greasy, fried potatoes without eventually suffering the consequences. “Admit it, you freak. You work out in secret.”

“There’s nothing secret about it,” Miles readily revealed, swallowing another spoonful of chocolate-flavored honey puffs while trying not to laugh at the same time. “I work out every morning. You’d know, too, if you got up before noon.”

At that, his forehead creased. What ungodly suggestion was that? “Why on earth would I?” The mere idea of it got Alex to grimace with repulsion. “I didn’t become a rock star just to wake up in the morning like the rest of the world.”

“You did it to sleep in, become rich, and bathe in the adoration of millions of fans?” There was a glint in Miles’ eyes.

“Are you mocking me by any chance?” Alex drew his brows up, making a show of being above it. “See if I care. I became a rock star because…” Well, why? What should have been an easy answer out of nowhere threw Alex for a loop. The words died out and he only drew blanks, which made him shift awkwardly in his spot as he gave coming up with a decent reply a real go.

Miles looked up, eyes slowly widening. “Yes?”

Alex turned his sight to the pencil twirling between his fingers, baffled that a harmless remark, less than an actual question, suddenly had him thinking about his life’s choices. “I don’t know why I became a musician.” What strange answer that was. “Guess I fell into it?” He’d never handed the road he’d taken a great amount of attention. He’d just traveled it, forever looking forward, never second-guessing. Music had been there, and he’d simply played it. Was there a better answer? There had to be. If only he could find it. Sinking into the rabbit hole of his own mind, he decided to rely on Miles for help. “Why did you become one?”

Shoulders rolled as Miles finished his late-night meal. “Love music. Never really wanted to do anything else. Is it just that, though? You make music because you can?”

“Well, I love doing it,” he added, strikingly defensive as if justifying his place in the sun. “I’m good at it. And I, too, wanted to make music. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever not wanted to make music. It’s just…I’m not sure I made the conscious decision to become a musician.”

“You formed a band,” Miles reminded him.

“In school,” Alex bounced back. “We got our name out, somehow.” For the first time in a bloody long time, his thoughts drifted back to that time when it all began, and he strained to make out the details in his blurry recollection. “I still studied, though. I think I even considered studying in London,” he mused, adrift in the past.

“Teaching?”

“Yes.” Alex blinked Miles’ way. “Did I tell you before?”

“Maybe,” shrugged Miles. “Just seems like the obvious thing for you.”

The corners of his mouth flew up. “‘Cause I’m so smart?”

“‘Cause you’re a smart-ass,” Miles volleyed back, always faster than Alex when it came to comebacks. “But, yes,” stretched Miles, “I will admit you’re smart. You certainly know the dictionary by heart. And I don’t know anybody in the world who knows more alternatives for the word _love_ than you do. In multiple languages,” he supplied, bloody amused by it.

Alex flipped him off for his shrewd judgment. “Mock me, as I said, and see if I care. But rest assured, next time you’re struggling for a word, don’t come picking my brain!” He got over the jest fast. “I think I would have made a miserable teacher, though. Think about it. Aside from the obvious, which is teaching would have eventually bored the shit out of me, I’m not patient enough to deal with a bunch of dwarf-sized narcissists on a daily basis.”

That got him to laugh. “I believe the term is _children_.” Miles emptied the bowl and licked the spoon clean before aiming the kind of smile Alex’s way that tore straight into his heart and blew away all that was befuddling his brain. “Now what?”

“Sex?” Alex hopped off the counter, eager to the point of embarrassment to get close to him. If it were somebody else, he’d have laughed at it. But the hours were running away from them and with each street marker they passed, they were nearing their inevitable goodbye. Desperation made him not give a fuck. Eyes twinkled as he strode toward him. “Last night on the bus. We should give it a proper goodbye.”

“You know,” winced Miles, words slow and dripping with disinterest, “I’m all ‘bout proper send-offs. But—”

“What?” asked Alex. This sounded like the early end of an evening for which he’d had high and dirty hopes. He prepared a pout, ready to deploy if need be.

“The damned bunk beds are bloody tiny, and Loren’s been holed up in the lounge area in the back, so we got nothing but the shower for privacy. And—”

When had that ever stopped him before? “And what? No sex?” That was not an option he was willing to even consider. They’d only have one more night. Tomorrow would be the last show of their tour. The day after that, Miles was scheduled to fly back to London. His friend wanted to return home as soon as possible and start working on his next album. Alex understood his enthusiasm to write. It was his refusal to write in Paris, with Alex, or even in his mere vicinity, that bothered him. That resentment mingled with impatience and had an expected result on his mood. It tanked. “That leaves what? Sleep?”

Miles rose to his feet. He was the spitting image of patience. Hands settled on Alex’s sides. Taking his time, he let them stray there, roving idle paths, striving to divert his mind. To no surprise, Alex fell victim to his never-dying need to be in his lover’s arms. Heads dropping forward, foreheads touching, Miles gazed into his eyes.

“Wanna snuggle?” What could have sounded like a romantic suggestion came out as a spiteful snarl. “At least let me sneak in a hand job.”

“Jesus,” snorted Miles, the vibrations of it palpable against Alex’s skin, “remind me to leave you well-fucked before I leave for the airport.”

“Better yet, don’t leave.”

A grunt hit the quietness. _There goes sex_ , Alex fathomed, irked that he’d nobody but himself to blame for it.

“Alex,” ground Miles, “we had that discussion.”

No, they hadn’t. “There was very little discussion taking place,” he retorted while sliding his hands up Miles’ arms. His body craved him even as his mind wanted to punish his wish to leave him with cold distance, to let him get a taste of what he was in for. “You informed me of your plans and that was it.”

“I’m not leaving the world, alright?” Miles’ voice lost its warm layer and became harsh. “It’s bloody London,” he hit back, annoyed. His hands stopped pulling him in. “You got a fucking key to my apartment. You have a place less than three blocks away. You want to see me, come fucking see me.”

“It’s not about that and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know that!”

Alex let go. His wayward emotions were winning the battle against his better judgment and he spun around, away from the threat to fall into a fight with Miles. Instead, he stared out the small windows of the bus, observing the streetlights as they blurred by. In the reflection of the glass, he saw a wave of sadness washing over Miles’ face. They’d been so good at ignoring life outside tour that he didn’t know how to handle it creeping up on them now. “I fucking know that I can come to see you. I’ve been doing that for over a bloody decade! But shit has changed between us.”

“You don’t say,” sneered Miles, arms crossed as he came to rest against the table.

“Why are you so fucking eager to get out of this city?”

“I don’t know, Alex.” The sarcasm fell in big chunks from every syllable. “Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that your _girlfriend_ is waiting for you. At home. You know? The big house on the outskirts of the city, where she fucking lives with you? How do you suppose she’ll react if you drag me home with you? And just for the sake of this argument, let’s say I will go home with you. What’s that going to make me, huh? Your affair? Your mistress?” He shook his head with repulse as he spun around as well, leaving Alex with no choice but to guess his feelings. “Your dirty little secret? Will you store me in the guest room and sneak into my bed at night?”

“You didn’t mind it for the last two weeks.” The second the words left his mouth, Alex regretted it. He knew it was a fucked-up thing to say even as he said it. And Miles’ reaction, the absolute and utter quietness that filled the air like a poisonous fog, made him feel like dirt. “I didn’t—”

“Mean it?” The question stung. “Yes, you did. And for your fucking information, I minded it a whole damned lot, you selfish prick. You really think I don’t care that I’ve been cheating on my girlfriend? You think I don’t give a fuck that Taylor sits at home, wondering whom you’ve been screwing these last weeks? I can’t even fucking look at myself in the mirror anymore.”

It was a sucker punch to the gut. Alex was stuck. He couldn’t move, couldn’t react, couldn’t speak. Miles was unhappy and it was because of him? All this time he’d thought that what they had kept putting a smile on his face. Hearing him now…it was a betrayal. The worst kind of insult. He’d felt alive and giddy and better than he’d done in a bloody long time, all because of Miles, and this Miles, _his_ Miles, the man responsible for some of the best moments in Alex’s life, informed him with a casual brutality that bordered on ruthlessness that he was sick because of it?

His stomach clenched at the thought. His heart pained in ways he didn’t recognize.

Warm hands settled on his back and Alex jolted. He twisted away, out of his touch. “Fucking let go!”

“Al—”

His tone was acerbic. “I don’t want you to feel any worse than you already do.”

Miles sighed in exasperation. But he let go.

_Don’t_ , Alex wanted to say. _Don’t let go. Ignore what I say. Hold me tight!_ He was torn by the turmoil waging war inside of him. He yearned for his touch yet refused it as it came.

“I’m not…” Miles struggled for the words. “I don’t know…like…I’m doing an awful job, aren’t I? Of explaining myself. Alex…when you kiss me, everything around me slips away. When you look at me, I see nothing else. When you touch me, I feel nothing else. And when you smile, I’m the happiest I can be. But when this tour is over, it’s not just us anymore.”

“It can be,” mumbled Alex petulantly. He had it all figured out. They’d meet, in private. They’d find ways to share nights. The entire world was littered with hotel rooms. Miles lived alone, so Alex could stay there. Taylor…she never needed to know. And if the act of cheating caused such a strain on Miles’ sense of duty, then all he had to do was break up with Hannah.

A short laugh escaped Miles’ lips. Far from amused. Tired, if anything. “You’ve always been this way. You only see what you want to see. You excel at arranging your life into boxes and once you put your head into one, all the others cease to exist. You forget that there’s life around you when you write music. You don’t see the audience when you’re lost in a song. I’ve envied your focus for as long as I can remember. But I’m not like you.”

“Don’t be like me,” pleaded Alex, facing him once more. “Be _with_ me.”

“You already are with somebody.”

_What if I’m not?_

“It’s better that way. What if we gave it a try, huh? Think about it!” Miles asked with a biting voice, indulging an idea that Alex could tell Miles had already labeled silly. “Would we hold hands and see movies, Al? Would we go dancing and stroll home at night? Come on. You know us. We go weeks without seeing each other. We forget to call another when we’re busy. We’re best friends because we’re alike and we don’t blame each other for any of this shit because we both do it! That’s not how relationships work.”

He knew it. For fuck’s sake, he knew it better than he was willing to admit. They didn’t even live in the same fucking city anymore! He wouldn’t move to London and Miles wouldn’t move to Paris. He’d go back to touring with his band and Miles would soon start putting together a new one, then tour with them. They’d release new albums. They’d forget about this time in their lives and go on new ventures. They’d remain, friends, because it was what they were and would always remain. He didn’t need Miles to tell him they weren’t normal people. But they had met as friends before and they had stayed in close contact as friends before. Alex didn’t get the issue with meeting as more. If he’d crashed on Miles’ couch before, why couldn’t he crawl into his bed now? If Miles had slept in his guest room before the tour, why didn’t he want to stay there now? “So…what? We end?”

“You and I will _always_ be friends. But we _knew_ that this wasn’t meant to last. We knew it the first night, Alex.”

“ _You_ decided it the first night,” Alex cut back. For all the bliss that they’d enjoyed, it was striking, almost startling how unresolved so many of their issues were.

Miles shook his head, not taking the bait.

Alex leaned back against the counter.

“We should go to bed,” suggested Miles.

“I thought you didn’t want to fuck in the bunk.” Alex winced on the inside. How acrimonious he sounded. How unlike himself.

“Sleep, Alex. We should go to _sleep_. In _separate_ bunks,” Miles let him know with a tone that invited no discussion. He’d made his choice.

One he didn’t agree with.

An hour later, Alex crawled into Miles’ bunk. “Be stubborn if you want,” he silently hissed into the darkness. “But I can’t fucking sleep and—”

In a move executed so fast it nearly knocked the wind right out of his lungs, he found himself rolled onto his back. Alex gasped, clinging to Miles more out of instinct and less out of need. Although _need_ , around Miles, was never far away. Part of Alex expected, maybe even hoped for a kiss. The ravishing kind. A make-up kiss? A shut-the-fuck-up kiss? This night’s argument had left him in dire demand of contact, and he wasn’t picky. He’d take everything Miles offered.

It wasn’t a kiss he was given, though. The heavy frame of Miles’ body weighed Alex down. A scratchy, stubble-covered chin rubbed into the arch of his neck. And a soft, flat repetition of shallow, hot breaths met his skin like silent strokes of a warm hand. Miles scrambled into Alex’s arms and locked himself there. “Hold me.”

No argument and no disagreement in the world could stop him from doing that. Alex tightened his arms, dug his fingers into Miles’ shoulders, and he held him as close as he could. Before long, he drifted off to sleep.

*

**Miles**

They were everywhere. Fucking everywhere. There wasn’t a damned spot in all of this part of the town where there weren’t any people.

The concert had ended an hour ago. He and Alex had said goodbye to their tour, had taken their bows in front of the audience, and then – that had been the plan – they had intended to slip away and say farewell to one another in private. They’d stay the night in a hotel. Away from everyone. But what had sounded so simple in theory proved all but impossible now.

Clutching his hand, startling Miles as he hovered in front of the venue’s exit, Hannah sidled up to his side. “Been so long that I slept next to you, I’m pretty sure I forgot how it feels.” Her free arm reached up, fingers brushing his cheek. “You look tired. I didn’t know if you guys had made plans for tonight. If you want, we can just go back and hang out. Or, enjoy drinks alone in some quiet bar. But you’re always up for a night out, aren’t you?”

Swallowing, he looked away. The consequences of lying were starting to close in on him. Her sweet smile would no doubt escape his sight forever once she discovered how unworthy of it he was. His awful crimes, committed so willingly, now roiled inside his stomach as if he’d gorged on acid. The tip of his fingers twitched with the urge to pull away when somebody else appeared.

“What a night, huh? Made for celebrating,” announced Taylor giddily, dragging Alex after her. Judging from the look on his friend’s face, he, too, was unhappy about this turn of events. “Let’s go dancing! You game?”

“Sure,” Hannah quickly agreed. “Right?”

“’kay,” nodded Miles, wondering if his true feelings were visible to anybody else, or just Alex, who offered a commiserating, empty smile. This way, at least, he’d get to hang out with Alex. The alternative was to let Taylor drag him away.

Her presence also confirmed something else. They had made up, then. He’d already assumed. Alex hadn’t mentioned anything about a break-up, and Miles hadn’t dared mentioning her name, out of shame and out of selfish interest. He should have known their girlfriends would await them here. He’d hoped to escape their eyes in time to have one last night with him.

And it had to end tonight.

He couldn’t go on like this. It was eating him up. Hannah didn’t deserve what he was doing to her and while he’d yet to decide whether to tell her, he didn’t want to betray her any more than he’d already done. It wasn’t fair to Taylor, either. In the end, it was on Alex to decide what kind of partner he wanted to be, but Miles wanted out of that equation. He didn’t want to be the reason for their split. He didn’t want to be the other guy.

He didn’t want Alex to end it with Taylor _for_ him.

If Alex didn’t love her, he should say so. If he did love her, he should be with her.

“We should have expected this,” Alex spoke with a lowered voice, holding Miles back as their girlfriends entered one of the waiting cars. “Think we can sneak away once we reach the club?” His thumb brushed against the inside of his hand, across his palm, stopping the oxygen from circulating through Miles’ body.

Would it ever stop? Miles slid his gaze toward Alex and shrugged forlornly. Would he ever stop feeling this way? Feeling as if he’d been set ablaze by nothing but a single brush of a thumb? Feeling as if he’d perish unless he kissed him now, with all his might? Feeling as if a piece of himself went away as soon as Alex slipped out of reach?

“We can’t just ditch them,” Miles pointed out. He sure wanted to.

Alex’s hand entwined with Miles’ behind his back. “If you consider the sum total of awful shit we’ve done over the past few weeks – none of which I regret for even a second – do you really think it’d make a difference? Come tomorrow, you and I will have to do a lot of apologizing. If we fess up, that is. What’s one more offense?” Misery clung to him as he spoke. “I can’t just let you…” He squeezed his hand hard enough to make it hurt. Took a sharp breath. “Let me say goodbye,” pleaded Alex.

“Guys, you coming?” asked Hannah, from inside the car.

“You go ahead.” Eyes not wavering away from Alex, Miles’ lips turned upward. “We’ll take the next car. Meet you there.” With that, he closed the door, knocked on the roof, and didn’t look as the car drove off. There might have been protests from Hannah, but he wasn’t paying attention.

Instead, he curled his hand around Alex’s nape and brought their foreheads together. “Let’s go.”

It wasn’t sex. It was sex, but it really wasn’t. It was something else entirely. Buried completely inside of Alex, sitting upright with him on top, legs tangled around one another, Miles couldn’t stop staring into his eyes. He’d never seen these many emotions stuck inside somebody’s orbs. Conflicting ones. Turmoil and sadness, affection and happiness. Indecision and dread. Their movements were paced and slow. They were taking their time. This wasn’t about the pleasure, even though it surged through their bodies at an insane speed. Everything that Alex was feeling, Miles could taste on his lips. It was there in his kiss. In his gentle caresses and breathless sighs. It was burning into Miles’ soul, leaving no uncertainty that he’d never forget this night.

“If only I had known,” rasped Alex, driving his fingers through Miles’ hair, angling his head to ghost the words against Miles’ lips, “that…”

“What?” Miles asked, lips brushing another. “Known what?”

“I was so scared before you kissed me, all those weeks ago. So unaware of what would expect me.” Inside Miles’ hair, the fingers danced idly around. “So unprepared. Now I must return to that life and it suddenly is the cruelest of punishments. To part from your lips is to part from my heart.”

“Alex, stop.” Miles tore his eyes away, distracting himself from Alex’s confession by marking his neck one last time. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” A gasp made it from his throat. He arched his throat into Miles’ mouth. “It’s the truth.”

_If it were that, this wouldn’t be the end._

But Miles couldn’t tell him that. Would Alex even understand? If Miles was the owner of Alex’s heart, how come he’d return to Taylor with the rise of the sun? If this was more than sex, how come it had to end with it? If this were real, it wouldn’t feel like a dream. “’tis attraction, Alex.”

It had to be. Maybe an infatuation. Maybe, honestly, he was _in love_ with him. But more than that, he couldn’t permit. More would mean that they had something worth fighting for. And if that was the case, how come neither one was taking up the challenge?

That devastating question died there, on the spot, when Alex flipped them over, and their languid motions morphed into frenzied attempts to catch that ever-desired release.

“Alex, oh Alex…”

By the time Alex had fallen asleep, the sun was busy stretching its rays far into their spacious hotel room. Sitting at the small table, his sight on him, Miles’ mind wandered back in time, revisiting old memories too long forgotten. How easy it had been between them, even from the very beginning. Once the first few awkward encounters had cleared the space for friendship, they’d been best friends. And there had never been a shred of doubt about it. Both were very lucky when it came to friends. They had plenty and, grateful for that, they could call most of ‘em _good_ friends. But what he and Alex had, that was rare and special and neither one had ever shied away from admitting that.

**_2012_ **

_“You make me say ‘I love you’ bloody often, that’s for sure.” Alex stood in front of his bathroom sink, facing the mirror, combing his hair. Next to him, leaning with his butt against the sink, was Miles, snickering at the sight. It was going on for minutes, now._

_“You just got back from the hairdresser. Would you stop fussing with the ‘do’? It’s ridiculous.”_

_“Jealous?”_

_“Of your hair?” Miles snorted. Hard. His fingers ran through his own strands, which were shorter these days, but still had that seventies, mod flair that he liked. Although, they used to be messier when he’d been younger. In recent years, he’d gotten to styling and blow-drying them and that had killed most of his natural curls. “What do you mean, I make you say it often. I don’t ask you to say it.”_

_Alex flicked the comb through it one more time, then inspected the result. “It’s like you put it in my head or something. You say it every time you leave, and then I say it, and then, earlier, I accidentally said it to the hairdresser.” His head sank further toward the mirror and he twirled that one curl into a sly touch of final perfection._

_Oh, he was begging for it, now! Miles edged closer, coolly, pretending to yawn and stretching his arms high. Only to spin around swiftly, come to a rest right behind Alex, and ruffle his whole head of hair into a tangled mess of hair gel and styling mousse._

_“Shit, damnit!” Alex slammed his elbow back, hitting Miles’ ribs. “Dickhead!”_

_Wincing in pain while cracking up, Miles met Alex’s eyes via the mirror. “Wear it this way. Looks very rock-chic.”_

_“Rock,” snapped Alex, “was what I had going before you decided to ambush me. This,” he let him know as he scrambled for the comb, “is grunge. “_

_“God forbid,” taunted Miles, remaining in his spot behind him, “you mix that up!” He rested his hands against Alex’s hips. “Surprised you even know grunge.”_

_Arching an eyebrow, Alex quirked his lips. “Are you begging for a fight right now?”_

_“Just saying.” He yawned again. For real, this time. “It’s late. We still going out or…”_

_“Wanna stay in? We can order something?”_

_“How ‘bout Indian?”_

_Alex groaned at the prospect. “That’ll stink the place up again.” Eyes rolled. “Fine. But you owe me for that.”_

_Traipsing his fingertips up Alex’s side, Miles winked._

_Laughter bubbled from Alex. “Stay away from my hair!”_

_“One more ruffle,” begged Miles, chuckling. “Pretty please. But style it, first.”_

_“Fuck off!”_

_The traipsing became tickling. “You know you want to!”_

_“Why would I want you to mess up my hair?”_

_“So you can comb it. Again! Bloody addicted to that thing, you are!” From behind Alex, Miles reached around him and pulled the drawer left to the sink open. “Ha! Three more combs. Knew it!”_

_“In case I lose one.” Defensiveness droned from his voice and he nudged the combs aside to reveal something else. “You got a fucking round brush in here!”_

_“Told you,” Miles countered, “that I need to blow-dry this mop. Looks weird if I don’t. But I don’t blow-dry it ten times an hour.”_

_“What else you got in here, let’s see.” Alex fished around inside his drawer. Only to smirk when his eyes landed on a particular item. “Is that anti-wrinkle cream?”_

_“It’s moisturizer,” stated Miles as a matter of fact. “I have dry skin.”_

_“Weirdo.”_

_Miles chuckled. “Try it. Would serve you well.”_

_“I’m good, thank you very much.” Alex’s face distorted into a grimace. “See, this is what I mean. That’s why I think you should get your own storage box in this bathroom. With your name on it. That way, my girlfriend won’t think that_ I _am the one using that shit. Moisturizer? Seriously, Mi?”_

_“Your attempt at mocking me,” noted Miles with indifference, “would work better if you didn’t spend hundreds of pounds on hair gel.”_

_“That’s a lie!” huffed Alex, eyes flickering with insult. Only to concede, a moment later and with a small voice, that, “I buy in bulks.”_

_Close enough to Alex’s head, Miles sniffed once. “At least it smells good.”_

_Alex applied the last touches._

_Miles prepared to attack._

_In a split second, Alex escaped his friend’s wicked fingers, wrapped both arms tightly around his middle, and used the necessary force to make him walk out of the bathroom. “No more messing with my hair. Or I won’t let Indian food into this apartment. Are we clear?”_

_Stumbling backward into Alex’s bedroom, giggling, Miles threw his head back. “Fine, fine! Lemme go!”_

_“Swear first.”_

_“Swear!”_

_Alex let go. And smacked a kiss against Miles’ cheek. “Doesn’t feel dry.”_

_“It’s the moisturizer.” From the bedroom they made their way into the living room. “What did the hairdresser say when you declared your love for her?”_

_“Him,” corrected Alex. And grinned with smug satisfaction. “Winked at me, then asked me out for drinks.”_

_Miles shook his head as he rolled his eyes. “Bloody flirt.”_

_“Tsk, don’t you worry, my love. You’ll always be my number one!”_

_“Aw, that’s sweet…bullshit! How can you claim that anyway?” Lips slid into a sad pout. “You won’t even let me touch your hair!”_

_Laughter exploded from Alex. “Let’s make a deal, then. You can touch it. Carefully. But no ruffling.”_

_“Keep your quiff. No fun in that.”_

_“Take it or leave it. Where’s your phone? Gimme.”_

_Miles handed it over._

_Unlocking it, Alex dialed. “Hey, Dev. It’s Alex. You got time for an order? Great.” He looked at Miles. “What’s it you want? Curry?”_

_Miles took the phone back out of his hands. “Dev, Miles here. You got a pen? It’ll be long list.” Pointedly disregarding Alex’s bothered expression, he proceeded to order. “…and, finally, the curry. Extra spicy.”_

_Tearing the phone from his hand, Alex quickly cancelled that. “No, no, no. Told you what happened the last time he ordered extra spicy. You really want that on your conscience, Dev? We’ll take mild.”_

_Miles scowled._

_Alex didn’t react. “Extra rice. And that sauce that we had the last time. The red one. The… Pakora, yes! That’s it. Shit, that’s enough for a party. Never mind. We’ll pick it up in a bit. Don’t worry with delivery. Alright. Love you.” He hung up. Paused. “FUCK!”_

_Next to him, Miles clutched his stomach while choking through fits of laughter. “You really love everybody, don’t you!”_

_“Everyone but you,” grunted Alex, covering his face with both hands, to growl into them. “Shit! That’s on you! I never used to say it. Oh, that’ll make the rounds. He’ll tell everybody. And then he’ll tell Matt, who, in return, will tell everyone AGAIN.”_

_“Dev is dating your dove’s best friend. She’ll hear it, too!”_

_“Ugh.” With that, Alex slouched down onto the couch. “Great, she thinks I’m incapable of saying it.”_

_Placing his hand on Alex’s back, giving it a tender, reassuring rub, Miles met Alex’s upset eyes with a warm expression, to put him at ease. “Don’t you worry, love.” Lips warped into a smile. “Next time you see her, imagine she’s the hairdresser and it’ll roll right off your lips.”_

_Alex flipped him off. Miles stuck out his tongue. And, because he’d never been good at upholding half-assed promises made under duress, he immediately disheveled Alex’s quiff again. “Before you get mad, just admit it. You knew I was gonna do it again!”_

_“Swear I’m gonna shave my head one day just to piss you off!”_

_“Never. You love your comb too much.”_

**Present Day**

Miles reached for the hotel stationary, put pen to paper, and wrote.

_“I can’t do this in person. I’m sorry. I will never forget this summer._

_I love you_

_Best mates forever, M.”_

After he carefully placed the note underneath Alex’s phone, Miles grabbed his things and silently walked out the door and as he shut it behind himself, making an effort to be as quiet as he could possibly be, he realized that there was a real chance he was closing the door not just to a doomed relationship, but also to an almost life-long friendship.

How could they have been so reckless? So dumb? So selfish?

His phone chimed and he glanced at it with a sigh. More than twenty unread messages, most of ‘em from his girlfriend. He skimmed over the texts. The last one summed it up best.

_“Unless you’re dead in a ditch somewhere, you’re an asshole. The least you can do is break up with me in person.”_

“Don’t I know,” mumbled Miles on his way to the elevator. “Don’t I know…”


	9. The Shady Lay

**#Part 9**

**#London**

**#Miles**

“…book a hotel or…”

Miles snagged the buds of his headphones from his ears. “I’m sorry, what? Hotel?”

Hannah gave him a blank look. “The birthday party? I’ve been talking ‘bout it for five minutes. I told you— Were you listening at all?” Eyes darkened. “Come on, Miles! You telling me you…” The words died a slow, drawn-out death and what once were sweet, kind lines of joy gracing her face now morphed into hard contours that, not for the first time in recent days, made it clear how unhappy she was with his behavior. “You didn’t hear shit of what I said.”

Fingers went to the headphones and he held one up. “Was listening to music.” It was a shitty defense, he knew. He’d seen her sitting across from him. He might have noticed that her lips had moved. He could have killed the sound, taken the headphones out, listened, to find out for sure. He’d done none of that. It was a warm fall day and the sun was shining. The windows stood open wide, which let the air in, but also the noise of a busy London afternoon. And he’d killed the background by listening to some new group that a friend from New York had suggested. Something that might help him get somewhere with the direction for his new album. He wanted to get back to that. But even he knew that telling her that would be a special kind of dick move. So, he swallowed his assholian urges, ground out a guilty smile, and shrugged. “What’s that about a hotel?”

Nodding once, deciding against starting a fight, something Miles could tell from the simple way her gaze fell away from him, she started over. “Taylor’s birthday? It’s next week. I got a present. She’s celebrating in Paris. Invited us to a party. Apparently, it’s some sort of dinner party? Elegant, you know? Just a few close friends. At home. I asked if you talked to Alex about it. You usually stay in his guest room. Will we stay there? Is it okay if I stay there, too, with you? Like, we’ve never done that before. Or should we just stay at a hotel? I assume she’ll want some privacy wi—”

“Hotel,” Miles blurted out. He hadn’t spoken to Alex since leaving Paris. Since sneaking out in the middle of the night. Honestly, he was surprised they, or rather _he_ had gotten an invite in the first place. There was no way Alex wanted him in his guest room. “Just…book one.”

“Alright. Should we go early?”

“Well, when is the party?”

“Saturday, next week.”

“It’ll be early enough if we get there on Saturday, then, won’t it? Unless you want to spend time in Paris. Like, go out or whatever. Hang out with Taylor. I’m busy with this.” He pointed to the journal resting next to him on the sofa. “Got a meeting with my manager, some stuff. You can go early.”

The most unamused smile in the history of smiles made it to her lips. It was a facial twitch more than it was a smile. An indication that she’d amassed a book’s worth of questions and wanted to nag him with every single one of ‘em ‘til she’d finally figured out what the fuck was wrong with him. It was one that said, ‘I know you won’t tell me anything. Why should I bother asking?’ “Two weeks ago, you’d have jumped at the chance to hang out with your best mate. You ditched me in Paris after not seeing me for weeks for a last hurrah with him, doing God knows what the entire night and—”

“So? Does that mean I can’t be busy now?” Shit, he shouldn’t sound so bloody defensive! After that so-called last hurrah and arriving back in London, guilty as charged, he’d knocked on her door, begged for forgiveness, made up some shit about one final night of partying and drinking with the boys before real life resumed. For some inexplicable reason, she’d believed it and forgiven him. Part of him had hoped she wouldn’t. “I’ll get there on Saturday.” After he’d have a dreaded phone chat with Alex, making sure his mate knew about the invitation and actually wanted him there.

“Fine. Well…it’s getting late. Should we go out for dinner or…?”

“Actually,” admitted Miles, already plugging the buds back in, “I’d like to finish this.”

“Listen to that album? Su—”

The last words got cuff off the by the song that set back in.

She knew. It was clear from the way she walked away. She might as well have flipped him off. No doubt, he deserved it.

An hour later, she’d gone out with some friends. Miles took a deep breath, grabbed his phone, and dialed the number he knew by heart. It was a weird habit, dialing his number instead of scrolling through the contacts, or hitting ‘last calls’. But if he knew all the digits, then why search through an endless list of names? Even _speed dial_ required more time than simply pressing the numbers.

Alex picked up. Only, he didn’t say anything.

Neither did Miles.

Two idiots. One call.

Time ticked down. A minute passed. Maybe two.

His friend cracked first. “It’s a cross-continental call,” Alex pointed out, making no effort to rush out the words. “It’s pricey. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really care. It’s your dime. You called me. Shocking, if I’m being honest. Nevertheless, we shouldn’t waste all your hard-earned money on breathing. I’m sure you’ve got shoes to buy.”

A snort from Miles, who was beyond grateful that Alex offered a joke to ease into this conversation. Far more than he deserved. “Shoes, guitars, a shirt that’s got an insane price tag but is fucking worth every last dime!”

“Well, then, don’t let me keep you from all that shopping you could be doing. What’s it that you want to discuss?” The cheery air of a superficial conversation slipped away in a hurry. A dreaded heaviness sat in. And it arrived in an instant, like a brick falling from the sky and hitting the floor with a thud when Alex went for the jugular. His tone turned icy. “Farewell letters?”

A sneer flew to his face. “Al…I explained why—”

“Twenty words and the initial of your first name explain shit, Miles Peter Kane.”

The only other time Alex had used his full name had been when Miles had accidentally – and it had truly been an accident! – sat Alex’s favorite guitar case on fire. Miles dropped his forehead into his palm. “Fuck.”

“Four more letters not doing the job right.”

“Who are you, _Count von Count_?”

“Pissed off,” bit Alex, not laughing. “That’s what I am!”

His own temper flared. He knew he’d fucked up, but he’d done it in lieu of other options! “What would you have wanted me to do, huh? What was left to say?”

“Good morning. How ‘bout that one? Or, goodnight. Goodbye. Adiéu. Farewell. Slept well? Bonjour. Á bientôt. Or a fucking simple ‘see you around’?!” The words hit like slaps to the cheek. “How ‘bout fucking that, huh?!”

“You know exactly how fucking hard it is for me to break up with somebody,” barked Miles.

“Halle-fucking-lujah, then,” snarled Alex, voice thundering through the phone, “that it took you only twenty fucking words and a big, fat letter _M_ to break up with _me_ , asshole! And by-the-fucking-way, I didn’t know we needed to break up ‘cause I was under the impression that we were friends and would remain friends. That was the deal, was it not?”

“It _was_ the deal!” Miles’ emotions ran away from him, as did his calm. “Until it became more than sex, okay? Shit! We slept in each other’s arms. We shared a bath! I lost count on the times that we fucked and don’t even get me started on the number of kisses we exchanged!” All that had built up inside of him during the past few months suddenly escaped in a single violent eruption. Far removed from him, separated by an entire ocean and a galaxy’s worth of frustration, Miles finally felt able to say all that he’d wanted to say back when it had mattered and should have been discussed in the first place. “I can list the number of times that I’ve kissed my girlfriend since returning to London on one hand. I can’t even ballpark the number I’ve thought about you and your lips! That’s how fucking far removed we are from what was supposed to be the deal! We’re fucking screwed, you and I. How do you think meeting you again will go down?! All it takes is the thought of seeing you and I’m fucking hard, Alex. I can’t close my eyes and not imagine your hands on me. Those twenty fucking words were all I could get out! It was that or climbing back into bed with you and that was _not_ an option!”

“Why the fuck not?!”

“I,” he all but yelled into the phone, “have a girlfriend and fucking so do you!”

“Then break the fuck up with her!”

Silence.

The awful kind.

The kind that followed when somebody said something that wasn’t ever intended to see the light of day.

Miles ticked his jaw. His tongue ran over his teeth. And for a good while, he pondered his next words, fully aware that this could go very bad very fast unless they began to think first and speak after. “I’m doing both of us a favor and pretend you didn’t just say that.”

Alex, meanwhile, had no such concerns. With stubborn insistence, he let him know that, “I’ll be happy to say it again.”

“I told you in Paris,” Miles reiterated, picking the words wisely before disregarding them summarily and letting his injured honor get the better of him, “that I’m not some shady lay that you can climb into bed with whenever you feel like gettin’ off!”

“ _That’s_ what you think I want?” Indignation droned from Alex.

Miles snorted in return. “You tell me. You broke up with Taylor yet?”

“If that’s what you want? I’ll do it now!”

Miles hung up.

Wide eyes gaped at the device inside his hands.

“Son of a—”

The phone rang.

It was Alex.

He picked it up but gave him no chance to get a word in. “Don’t you ever fucking suggest that again, are we clear? I don’t care what fucked up relationship you have with her or how you justify being her boyfriend, but don’t you dare say something like that to me one more time. Understood?”

Quietness. And then? A small, groveling, “yeah.”

Miles relented. Calmer, now. “Okay.”

After a beat, Alex spoke up again. “You’re sounding all high and mighty there, safely tugged away in London. Let’s not forget that you’re the one who kissed me when it all started. And I’m not saying that to assign blame or whatever shit you might think. I’m merely reminding you that it was you _and_ me who started this mess that we’re in. Every time we did something, you had a choice to say _no_ and you _never_ did! So, when you accuse me of saying I’m the one crawling into your bed, I’d like to recap to you that you climbed into my bed plenty of times! I feel truly, genuinely horrible about the state of our friendship. Maybe you don’t believe me, but I fucking do! And as your friend, I understand, and I know that you have issues when it comes to breaking up with people. But in that hotel room in Paris, you snuck out on _me_. And that fucking hurt, Miles! It fucking hurt. Next time you hang up on me because I’m fucked up, remember _that_. You’re fucked up, too!” With that, Alex cut the line.

One again, Miles stared at the phone, tossed it away, and fell back into the couch. “Stellar work, Kane. Stellar work!”

*

**#Paris**

He hadn’t spoken to him again since that call. And now he stood in his living room, trapped inside a cluster of guests, friends, acquaintances, and strangers, all chatting and in a jolly mood, while Miles wished for nothing but a black hole to swallow all and everything.

Alex first, preferably.

Or himself.

Anything to avoid talking to him.

Jamie bumped his shoulder, grinning. “Have you seen the dinner table? There’s a whole damn assortment of knifes, forks, all that shit. Two wine glasses. Not one for whiskey. I’m not picky, you can pour that shit into a water glass for all I care.”

“Up to the hilt,” suggested Miles, eager for a stiff drink. “No ice needed.”

Jamie fidgeted with the knit on his tie. “God, I hate these things. Let’s find the bar.”

“Let’s find his liquor cabinet! That’s where he’s hiding the good stuff. Who gave him the _Yamazaki 18_ – was it Matt? Think he still got it?”

“Oh, I hope!” Jamie led the way, making for Alex’s hidden stash inside his studio, away from prying eyes, drunks, and girlfriends. Covered by a frayed, framed poster that rested against an aged, decades-old chest that was stuffed to the last crevice with Vinyls, was the lower cabinet. It had a lock.

Miles reached into the highest shelf where the rare records were stored. Wedged between two old _Beatles_ recordings hid the key. “Gotcha!”

“Gimme!” Jamie held out his hand, already kneeling in front of the cabinet. He unlocked it hurriedly. “Anyone watching us?”

Miles checked over his shoulder. “Nope.” Technically, this was breaking and entering. Stealing, at the very least. But amongst them, they had all stolen from each other at some point. And Alex was the first to understand the urge for a good two fingers. “Faster, Jamie! I hear noises!”

“Lock the door,” the guitarist groaned.

Miles rolled his eyes. “Can’t. It was open when we got’ere. Al will know somebody’s in here if we close it. Hurry up, come on! How hard is it to find whiskey in there?”

“It’d be easier if he wouldn’t hide it the back of this fucking cabinet that’s got no light in it! And all the bottles feel empty!”

“If he still got it, it’s probably in a box.” Miles bent down. Fished his phone out. Switched the light on. “Can you see anything?”

“No, damnit,” cursed Jamie, impatient. “Fuck, he can’t be out of that shit. There’s not even some cheap shit in here!”

“Fellas, may I be of help?”

Miles jumped upright; Jamie followed suit. “Aaaleeeex,” greeted the bandmate, a beaming, sly smile on his face. “My mate! Long time, huh? Come’ere, gimme a hug!”

“No, no.” Alex raised both hands, stopping him. “Hugs later. Explanations now.”

It wasn’t lost on Miles that he didn’t get a greeting nor had extended one himself. It was mostly dark inside the studio. Little light entered from the hallway. Alex’s frame was illuminated. A soft, golden glow surrounded his frame. But his face was cloaked in shadows. It robbed him of his chance to read his expression, to gauge his thoughts.

“We were looking for a bit of whiskey, Miles and I,” Jamie told him, shrugging the whole thing off. “You know? Bit of a good one?”

“There’s a bar out there. Right in the living room.”

Chuckling, Jamie raised and dropped a shoulder. “No fun in that. Besides, somewhere in there is—”

“Something specific?” There was a light, breezy manner with which Alex spoke. It carried traces of humor. Teasing hid in there as well. None of that was aimed at Miles, of that he was sure. It was all reserved for Jamie, the friend, and bandmate. Not for him, the fucked up ex-lover who’d crept out of a hotel room in the middle of the fucking night while his affair had slept in the bed, naked.

Jamie relented. “Tell you what, I’ll go find that drink out there.”

“Do that,” agreed Alex.

_Don’t go_ , Miles wanted to shout after him. _Don’t leave me alone with him!_

But Jamie walked out. And, unsuspecting of the drama, he closed the door behind him.

_Fuck!_

Swallowing, bringing his hands together, wringing ‘em, Miles’ lips shot into a half-assed smile that was laughable at best. “So…”

“You didn’t call back. I called you back. I called you back right after you hung up on me and you didn’t do the same.”

Hands fell apart. Miles averted his eyes. Where was that damn black hole when you needed it, huh? “No, I didn’t.” He turned around and made his way to the small desk against the wall which was littered with notes and sheets of paper. A distraction. A welcome one. “I didn’t know what was left to say. Like…I know there’s a ton of shit we should talk about, but also…what’s it gonna change at this point?”

“And because you don’t know how to discuss any of that, you ignore me entirely?”

“Want me to text you some joke of the day, or what?” Brows furrowed as he met Alex’s eyes by looking over his shoulder. “What’s there to say? I’m not ignoring you. I don’t know what to fucking tell you!” With slouching shoulders, he moved around and came to lean against the desk. “If we talk, we fight. And I don’t want to fight. But I can’t go back to _before_ and act like we’re just friends!” Eyes fell to the floor, solemn and glum. “I can’t even look at you.”

“Why not?” questioned his friend, speaking with insistence, yet struggling with this situation as well.

Miles sensed him walking up to him and it scared him. Close contact was dangerous. “Don’t…” he begged, gripping the top of the desk with more force.

Alex shook his head. He moved in on him. “No, I won’t stay away from you. We’re still friends and I’m not giving up on that.”

“Then don’t give up from across the room,” Miles shot back. A warning.

Obstinate man that he was, Alex snubbed the plea. He stepped straight into Miles’ personal space. Fingers darted out, slipping beneath the lapels of Miles’ jacket, gliding them off his shoulders.

His eyes drifted close, betraying his better judgment. “Don’t,” he sighed. That touch had a dangerous effect on him. “That’s not friendship, Alex.” His voice was shallow. Powerless. Nails dug into the wooden top of the desk, clawing in, clinging to that piece of furniture for dear life.

“This is _our_ friendship,” Alex hushed, tilting his head ever so slightly to catch his sight. “Look at me, babe.” From his chest, heaving as it was, venturing higher, to cup his face, he raised his, made him meet his gaze. “Open your eyes.”

Doing it, not knowing why, Miles met the black pools of desire that were Alex’s beautiful orbs, only to drown entirely. A comet wasn’t strong enough to drag him away from this moment. An explosion couldn’t distract him from the longing he experienced. Lava was no match for the heat that ran through veins. “Alex…” His hold on the desk was slipping. It had been days, weeks, since he’d last felt those lips descend onto his own. Knuckles became limb. Just a kiss. A single one. Fingers let up. “Alex…”

The pads of Alex’s thumbs ran over the line of Miles’ jaw, tracing the angles and curves, and lingered against the twitching muscles that existed there. “Sometimes,” his lover rasped, lips ghosting against the skin as he did, “I want you to record you saying my name like that, over and over. Just for me, for nobody else. The way you say it…it’s the finest sound of ‘em all.”

How had he gone a decade without ever claiming his lips, Miles tried to comprehend, only to fail. How had he slept side by side with him without ever reaching out and stealing a touch? How had he been able to look at him and not see the beauty of him? How was it possible to feel so entirely different about somebody whom he’d known for half his life? How had it changed in the blink of an eye?

In a fraction of a second, his resolve melted away. Chocolate in the summer’s sun. A pool of good intentions, staining the ground beneath his fast-flying feet. Hands hasted around Alex’s waist as his mouth captured his willing lips. “Babe…” he moaned into the desperate kiss. “Oh, babe!”

Alex clung to him. He drilled his fingers into Miles’ shoulders, tearing his body further into his arms, raring the both of them further into this frantic moment. Creaked words mixed with breathless pants. “Need you!” In a swift act, he let go, clutched Miles’ thighs, and heaved him up onto the desk, spreading his legs wide and taking this thing to a whole new level.

Giving up, surrendering wholly, Miles leaned back, supporting his weight upon his hands, and watched with hunger as Alex made quick work of the shirt he himself had made such a meticulous effort to button up. Off-white. Tight. Tiny buttons. Fitted. He was wearing a new suit. Charcoal black. And that tie that Alex had pulled on hard when they’d stumbled into the hotel room in Budapest, craving another. He’d dressed up for him. There was no denying that. And because he was weak and an idiot and dumb and stupid and madly in love and yet so completely unwilling to admit any of that, he’d stuffed a condom into his pant pocket and a small tube of lube and pretended those things weren’t there.

He pulled it out now.

Alex laughed, that amazing, pure, incredible laugh that he only ever laughed for him. Yes, they blamed each other for the shit they did. They snapped at each other. They said vile things and made harsh accusations and yet, despite it all, they knew they were in this together.

“If you hadn’t snuck out, I must admit, I would have.” Alex’s hands worked the belt of Miles’ pants.

Miles dove forward, going for yet another kiss. He shoved the hands away, too needy for his friend’s steady moves. He jerked the leather apart. “I couldn’t stay to say goodbye. I wanted to, but I couldn’t!”

“I couldn’t have done it either,” confessed Alex. “I don’t want to say goodbye.” The belt was undone. The pants were next. But first, more kisses. More gropes.

Miles arched against him, groaning when Alex fisted the hairs on his head, only to bare his throat and lick it. He shuddered. He was stiff as a fucking stone. His fingers curled around Alex’s pants covered erection and it made him smirk. Wonderfully, magnificently hard.

“Yes,” wailed Alex, falling forward, against Miles’ body. Lips met, again and again.

Wedging his hand into the treasure trove that was Alex’s pants, Miles licked his lips between wet kisses and moaned against the quirked ones of his man. And it was his man. Right here, right now, thick and solid just for him, Alex was his. Miles took his mouth in a ravishing kiss that never seemed to end.

But it did.

The door was being shut by force.

The sound a harsh disrupter of this moment of utter haziness.

Frozen in place, both Alex and Miles snapped their heads toward the entrance of the room, staring. It got clicked again.

Both flew apart, scrambling to get dressed.

Jamie slipped inside. “I’ll check, T. Wait in the dining room!” Once more, the door was being shut. Eyes shielded by both hands, Jamie faced a direction in which neither Alex nor Miles stood, seething, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” He was disbelieving, shell-shocked, without a doubt. “Fucking insane! Are you…like…how fucking stupid can you be?!”

Alex hissed as he zipped his pants up. “Fucking quit it. Get the fuck out!”

“I can’t, asshole. Your girlfriend’s out there!”

Miles barely paid attention as Jamie and Alex got into it, going back and forth, trading curses and insults, before Alex was fully dressed and, with that, eased up the tiniest bit.

He, on the other hand, was far from agitated. He was oddly calm. Almost thankful for the interruption, in a sense. One reason was that it had stopped him and Alex from making an awful mistake, one half-made already, maybe too massive by now, but hopefully not unfixable. Another reason was, it had catapulted him into reality.

Here he was.

The shady lay.

He shoved the leather of his belt through the loop of his pants, straightened his tie, and took a deep breath. Then he wiped his lips, took one more breath, deeper even, and faced Jamie. “Did she see?”

He shook his head.

Miles nodded. Subdued, stone-cold sober eyes met Alex’s wildly infuriated ones. Had he ever seen him angrier? Alex wasn’t the blustering type. He raged, sure. He cursed like a drunken sailor. But when he was truly angry, he got quiet. His eyes, though, they held enough energy to support an entire space rocket.

Right this second, he could have powered a mission to Mars. “Getting fucking interrupted like that—”

“That’s the part that angers you?” Miles heard himself chuckling, yet he was lightyears removed from being amused. “We’re done, you and I. We’re so fucking done.”

He grabbed his jacket, strode past Alex and Jamie, and headed for the dining room. Unable to face Taylor, he took large steps towards Hannah, leaned in, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “I got a brutal headache. I’m leaving. Enjoy the night.” Before she could react, he was out the door.


	10. A Sting To The Heart

**#Alex**

**#The Morning After**

“Hey there.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” cursed Miles, jumping backward while clutching his chest. “Alex, what the fuck?!”

Leaning with little care in the world against the wall of the Paris Ritz Hotel’s back entrance, next to a giant dumpster, on a Sunday morning at not even nine a.m., Alex gave Miles’ words a special amount of consideration. What the fuck, indeed! He could be at home right now, enjoying a lazy morning in bed and after last night, that wasn’t the worst idea. But no. He had to be the good friend. The grown-up. The wise one. The one making a last-ditch effort to save this battered friendship of theirs.

Plucking the half-smoked cigarette from his lips, he shrugged. Then pushed a tinfoil topped plate into Miles’ startled hands. “Cake. From Taylor. She remembered how much you love sugar and hopes you’re feeling better.”

“You didn’t tell her, then?” Miles stared at the plate, uncertainty in his eyes.

“Why would I?” At the sight of Miles’ wary expression, a snort slipped from Alex, who resumed smoking afterward. “What? Worried she poisoned it? Trust me, she doesn’t know.”

His friend placed it upon the dumpster, meeting Alex’s quirked lips with a cautious reply. “Not gonna test your faith in that.” Then he went for his own cigarettes.

Every morning after breakfast, Miles headed for a smoke. And because he was a good guy at heart, unlike Alex, who didn’t necessarily consider himself bad, merely picky about what rules to follow, Miles went outside for said smoke whereas Alex simply opened a window. Since it was the first Miles would have on most days, he preferred having it away from people. In hotels, that meant hidden in some back alley, away from anyone who might recognize him.

That urge, Alex wholly shared. It was how he’d known where to find him. Gaze aimed at the floor, he raised his shoulders with trepidation. “Should we discuss last night?”

Miles’ response was a tired groan. “What’s to discuss? I made myself clear, didn’t I?”

“That we’re done? Loud and clear,” agreed Alex, on the way the message was delivered, not on what it contained. That, he found asinine, truth to be told. “I’d like to object to it.”

Miles’ temper flared so fast that Alex nearly got whiplash. Throwing the cigarette away, snapping his eyes at him, he shook his head with indignation. “This some fucking joke to you?”

“No,” hissed Alex back, “it’s not.”

“My flight goes in three hours. I’m headed back to London, then to LA. I can’t fucking do this anymore, Alex! I need a break from you.”

_A break?_ Shit was escalating! “Just decided that, huh? _You_ decided that _you_ can’t do it anymore and _I_ get to suffer because of it. Some friend you are. Were you going to tell me or just fucking sneak away again?”

“I don’t see you suffering, to be honest.”

“Fucking look harder,” Alex barked back. “I can’t concentrate anymore, Mi. I can’t write, I can’t sleep, I can’t be her boyfriend, I fucking don’t know how to get over you!”

Set on his plans, Miles offered no other option and instead remained firm in his resolve. “Distance might help us,” he said dryly, with little compassion.

Too little, for Alex’s tastes. “You’re angry at me.”

A dramatic roll of Miles’ eyes confirmed that. “Ya think? Why did you kiss me?”

“Same reason you didn’t push me away,” returned Alex, unwilling to shoulder the blame by himself. Two had danced, last night. But despite brimming with anger at Miles’ cold behavior, Alex understood that his ire wouldn’t get him anywhere. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he faced Miles with a more collected attitude. “That’s gonna be the new us, then? Anywhere but in the same room together? Calls, texts, but nothing else? That’s not friendship, Miles.”

Miles, too, appeared more composed. “Neither is this, Alex. That way, at least, we won’t hurt anyone else.” He reached for the door. “I gotta go.”

“No,” said Alex, blocking his way. “You don’t. You got time. Your flight won’t—”

“I don’t _have_ to go, Alex. I _want_ to! What is fucking left to say, huh? It’s the same shit, over and over again. You won’t see my point and I’m tired of making it. I can’t bloody flip a switch and make a joke, now. Or fucking gossip! My girlfriend is upstairs. Yours is at home.” Despite his intentions of leaving, his fingers uncurled from the handle, and he faced Alex, cornering him by taking a step into his personal space. His cold and detached demeanor from before melted away and with each increment he came closer, the temperature in Miles’ eyes rose. What had been a look carved out of stone a moment ago was now a challenge, one Alex couldn’t decipher. Miles’ voice turned low, almost pleading. “Give me a reason to stay and I will.”

Alex stared at him, willing but lost. “What reason?” Miles wanted something specific, that much was obvious. But what? An argument for friendship? A kiss? He didn’t know! He put his hand to Miles’ hammering heart, splaying his fingers wide. “Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it. I promise.”

What might have been anticipation flashing over Miles’ face a mere second ago, now was a mien so hollow and dull it lacked all hope. Miles’ warm hand palmed Alex’s cheek, and by instinct, Alex leaned into the touch, relishing the kindness of it while wondering what he’d failed to say to make his friend this sad. But it was a distracting caress. The gentleness of it tugged on invisible strings that had a strangling hold on Alex’s heart. Fingertips, roughened from playing the guitar, scraped the delicate skin, setting millions of tiny fires and all of ‘em erupted at once in the form of Goosebumps. Eyes drifted close. “Mi…”

Leaning in, his friend’s lips, pliant and full of heat, set against his forehead, firm, yet sweet, and lingered. “I love you,” whispered Miles, promising that, “This isn’t the end of us, okay? It’s just a pause. For a little while.”

By the time Alex had soaked in enough of him to get through the day and was ready to break this moment, Miles had already slipped away, taking with him every opportunity Alex had missed.

**#October**

**#Los Angeles**

Seven text messages.

That’s what their friendship was down to, right now. Seven motherfucking short text messages. Generic shit like, ‘In LA now. Call soon.’

Calls that never came. Sitting on a bench in Matt’s backyard, watching with scarcely any interest as his drummer mowed the lawn and leaving a trail of sweat all over it, Alex swatted away some insects. Damned bees!

“I got a second mower,” snarled Matt from afar, wiping his forehead. “Feel free to help!”

“Get somebody to do it for you.”

“What’s your hourly rate?”

“One-hundred and fucking bite me.”

Matt killed the mower and strode over, grabbing the bottle of water from the ground. “Why are you here?”

“’cause we’re friends? This is me, being a friend, hanging out with you.”

“Sitting here, looking pissed as fuck, not helping shit, and eating my food?”

Alex glanced down at the half-eaten donut in his hand. Eyes returned to Matt, asking wryly, “Want a dollar for it?” Another bee circled around his head. With an annoyed grunt, he kept hitting at it.

With a snort, Matt drank some. “That thing is coated with sugar. You get that you’re luring the bees in by eating sugar in the sun, right?”

He’d been aloof so far, but his mood was tanking fast. “I’m not an idiot, Matt.” The bee sat down on Alex’s cheek. Alex slapped it.

The bee stung. “FUCK! Owww!”

Matt laughed hard. “Beg to differ.”

There was a grating amount of pity hidden between the giggles that tore on Alex’s thinly stretched nerves with reckless disregard. The pain on his cheek began to throb and ache in the worst way. Throwing the donut away, right past Matt’s glare, Alex got up. “Some fucking friend you are!”

The friend kept grinning. “Don’t blame your stupidity on me. That’ll leave a nice mark. Miles and Nick will shit their pants tonight, for sure! Maybe you’ll learn something from it.”

“Fuck off, will ya? It bloody hurts!” Alex marched off, rubbing the side of his face. Only to pause in the door. “Wait, what?”

Back at the lawnmower, Matt raised a shoulder. “What, what?”

Eyes rolled. “Miles? And Nick,” added Alex, to not appear too obvious. “They’re here?”

“Yes?” Matt scoffed. “Nick fucking texted you, Al. Invited everyone to that club?” Eyes stared blankly. “I told you earlier that Jamie called to cancel! Fuck, did you listen at all?”

No.

Awesome.

The mower roared back to life.

Alex found his way in front of a mirror and inspected his blemished face. _Shit._ Miles was in town and he looked like a cartoon character who’d gotten into a fight with a mutant hornet!

What was that thing that Taylor applied to her face after a night of partying? That weird looking make-up tube?

_Where can I get some?_

“Go ahead,” drawled Alex, glancing sideways at Nick once his bassist sat down next to him, at the bar. “Get it over with. I know you want to.”

“What shitty friend you think I am,” the bassist wondered, then snickered. “Can I see it?”

With a heavy grunt, Alex sat up, raised his cheek out of his palm, and faced the other man.

Nick waved his finger. “Look left. Can’t see anything.”

The grumbling got louder. But Alex did move his head.

“Fuck,” winced his friend. “That’s a big, fat egg on your cheek! It’s red and swollen. And—” He leaned in for a closer inspection. “Is that make-up?”

Alex shoved against Nick’s shoulder. The cheek quickly returned into its hiding space inside Alex’s hand. “Yes,” snarled he, far from happy ‘bout it. “It’s concealer.” He’d found it in his bathroom, tinkered with it, and failed. It hurt like shit when he’d put it on, burnt when he’d scrubbed it off, and now the sting was sore, remnants of make-up stuck to it, and Alex wished he’d stayed at home altogether.

Miles didn’t even fucking show up.

“You should put ice on it.”

He was drinking whiskey with ice. That had to make do. “Feel free to get back to the social people. I’m bad company tonight.”

“’cause of him?”

Alex stiffened, playing dumb. “Who?”

Nick chuckled, shaking his head as he did. “Don’t play stupid, alright? I’m talking about the guy you screwed around with behind your girlfriend.”

Jamie, the bloody gossip hoe! “Cookie told you?”

Chortled amusement from Nick. “Dude, come on. Who doesn’t know at this point? Aside from Taylor? You screwed around on the bus. Loren said you guys did it everywhere, all the fucking time.”

“Which isn’t true,” Alex bit back.

“Whatever! ‘fess up. Why are you still with Taylor?”

“Why not?”

Wide eyes sent daggers Alex’s way. “’cause Miles?”

Alex was fed up with this. Why did everyone tell him to break up with his girlfriend? Jamie had torn into him after T’s birthday, Matt couldn’t shut up about it, and now Nick, too? Why did it have to be one or the other? What was it to Miles if Alex went home to his girlfriend if he wasn’t in town anyway? Alex didn’t impose rules on Miles, did he? Miles could do what he wanted when Alex wasn’t around! It had worked out well so far, hadn’t it?

Yes, there had been that unfortunate moment at T’s birthday, when borders had blurred, and dumb choices had been made. But nobody had gotten hurt in the end and Alex didn’t understand why everyone was turning this single slip of judgment into a fucking huge deal!

Weeks ago, when it had all started between him and Miles, Miles had been the one who told him not to feel guilty about having a girlfriend. And Alex had taken those words to heart. What he and Miles had was different than what he and Taylor had. And to make that separation, to keep conscious of that difference, and to be aware of the finer points of human interaction was, to Alex, a strategy of survival. Drawers and boxes. _Alex The Boyfriend_ and _Alex, Miles’ Alex._ Two different people, two different goals.

What he and Miles had was on a different level. It had always been there, in a sense. It had merely gotten a makeover. That thing between them, he’d say, had grown-up. It had gotten a bit steamier. Sexier. It wasn’t a relationship. It didn’t come with drama and responsibilities. It was fun and light and wildly satisfying. And when they left the bed, or rather, put their clothes back on, they were friends. Why couldn’t Miles see it that way? Why did he have to insist on drawing lines in the sand? Why did he need to squash all of Alex’s meticulously organized boxes and combine the contents of well-sorted drawers? Why couldn’t life come in many color-coded containers?

“Hey.”

Alex’s head whipped around. “Miles.”

Nick got up, gave him a quick hug. “Hey, man! How are you? How’s the record coming?” He steamrolled him with questions and Miles, being polite and nice and many things that Alex wasn’t on most days, replied and expounded on each and everything, leading to long minutes of chatter and an endless back and forth between them.

All the while Alex sat there, at the bar, clutching his drink, wishing Nick would poof away. God, Miles looked so fucking hot. He was wearing that black shirt that clung so neatly to his fine body, accentuating all those firm muscles that Alex could identify with eyes closed, by the touch of his hand, or lick of his tongue. Was he staring? He’d bet he was. And he didn’t want to stop. Eyes feasted on him, on his slight stubble, his beautiful lips, his dimples that made him look young and innocent when Alex knew that Miles was far from the latter. He was passionate and dirty and wicked and… “’nother,” he yapped at the bartender, pushing the meanwhile empty glass his way.

“Make it two,” said Miles. “Nick?”

“Yeah, me—” Nick caught Alex’s warning glare. “Actually, I’ll need to leave for a sec.”

_That’s right_ , thought Alex. _Go away. Go away now._

“You sure?” Miles asked, skeptical.

“Very sure,” cut Alex in, answering for his bassist, who was wise enough to part, albeit feisty enough to part with a knowing smirk. Alex faced Miles. “How’s life? Been very busy lately. Not calling and such.”

“Yeah,” said his friend, voice falling. “It’s—” Miles paused. Bent forward. Squinted. “What’s on your cheek?”

The hand flew back to hide it. “Bee sting.” Damnit, he’d forgotten and now Miles had seen. “Looks hideous. I know.” The whiskey arrived and he went at it quickly, all the while keeping that disfigured part of his face covered. “Matt’s got killer bees or something in his backyard.”

“Killer bees,” laughed Miles. “Ah. Glad you survived the attack.” His hand shot out, curled around Alex’s, which he plucked away from the mark. “Let me see again.” Miles dove back forward. “Looks funny, though. A little inflamed. What did you put on it?”

“Soap,” gritted Alex. He wasn’t mad at being put on the stand. He was irate that Miles apparently forgot that there was this nasty thing of an inherent attraction between them! Didn’t he hear that dangerous crackling in the air, that sinister spark that lurked, waiting to jump? He was fine with it, honestly. If it were on him, he’d have pinned Miles to the bar the second he arrived. But Miles was so fucking hellbent on keeping his dick to himself that Alex felt punished by it. Even more, he felt mocked. Miles’ thumb casually crossed over Alex’s knuckles, leaving him tingly and aroused while all that shit, it seemed, had not the slightest effect on his friend!

Their eyes met.

Miles jerked away.

Okay, so maybe it had a little effect on him.

“Sorry,” croaked Miles, facing away, focusing on his drink. Swallowing it at once. “More,” he told the bartender.

“Bottle,” ordered Alex.

“Uh, what’s new? Don’t know. Not much,” Miles said, sitting down. “Wrote a bit. You? You just got to LA, right?”

“Two days ago.”

In the old days, he and Miles would have met up straight after getting home from the airport, getting drunk, partying, or just hanging out the whole time. Now, they hadn’t even talked on the phone. The last text was days old. “You busy?” Alex asked.

“Not that busy,” allowed Miles. “Why?”

“Curious why you never called.”

A timid glance slipped his way. Alex held it. Miles shrugged a shoulder. “’tis weird, talking to you on the phone.”

That much was true. They’d lost the ease with which they used to behave around each other. Everything was deliberate, now. Planned out or guarded. Especially from Miles’ side. He kept his texts to a minimum. Nothing personal. No land mine to step onto.

“How’s Taylor?”

Hell if he knew. “Bit…miffed,” he’d call it. “Doesn’t like that I’m working on a new album. Hannah?” He didn’t care. He didn’t want to know. He’d asked out of politeness.

“Same,” was Miles’ short reply. Grabbing the bottle, he filled both glasses.

Alex watched, then emptied his, and wiggled it. Miles promptly refilled.

“At this rate, we’ll be wasted in a jiffy.”

“We should slow down, then.”

Miles giggled into Alex’s shoulder, both arms looped around him as he did. “Looks like a little crater.” His forehead rubbed again Alex’s temple. His hot breath crashed against his ear.

Alex was happy. He was so fucking happy he’d gladly provoke a bee to get stung again, just so Miles had more of a reason to stay this close, pressed against his side, and continue blowing his sweet exhale against his skin. His arm was curled around his friend’s waist, a death grip, one Miles had yet to oppose to. “Hurt like shit,” he admitted. They were nestled amongst friends and strangers. Now that Miles was wonderfully drunk and beyond caring for any of that shit that he deemed profound, Alex had lost his anti-social behavior.

Lips grazed his face. “You’ll have to wear a beard, now. Can’t shave like that.” An arm unfurled from around him and Miles dabbed in the most gentle of ways against the bump. “’tis gonna hurt if you shave.”

“Gonna be scratchy and scruffy, then.” Alex met his eyes, forehead touched to forehead. “You liked that, right?” He’d lost his razor once, on tour, and had to go two days without one. “Called me your tickle monster.”

Darkness pooled in Miles’ eyes. “My inner thighs were red.” They were whispering.

Fond memories. A slow smile spread on Alex’s lips. “Uh-huh.” Hands firmly planted on Miles’ hips, he inched closer. “Will you kiss it better?”

Without a second’s worth of hesitation, Miles brought his mouth to spot in question, leaving a light kiss there.

How he wished the bee would have stung his lip, instead. Then he’d have an excuse to beg for a real kiss. Alex fully sank into Miles’ arms.

“Did it work?” his Miles wished to know.

“No,” lied Alex. “You’ll have to try again.”

The second kiss was firmer. It hurt a little. He’d give a limb for a third one.

“Nick said it’s a guys’ night out,” one of their friends interjected, drawing laughter from their group. “What’s happening?” He gave Alex’s shoulder a fist bump. “No hogging.”

“Not hogging,” countered Alex, carefully turning inside Miles’ arms, making sure to keep ‘em tightly around himself. His butt pressed against a very nice erection while Miles’ face was squished against his, cheek to cheek. “Keepin’ him safe, that’s all.”

“He’s makin’ sure nobody’s stealin’ me,” slurred Miles, drunk as fuck and wearing a silly grin.

The guy sputtered a laugh. “That’s what the kids are calling it these days, huh?”

“We ain’t doing anythin’ bad,” Alex proclaimed. He, too, was a few sheets to the wind and a bit stunned to find that his words were not as sharp when spoken out loud than they were in his head. Fingers entwined with Miles’. “We’re in committed relationships.”

“Yep,” agreed Miles. The grin got bigger. Alex sensed it. That certain shaft that kept poking his backside got a little harder. And needier.

Alex rolled his hips once.

Miles moaned.

Laughter roared through their group.

“Fucking wasted,” sighed Nick. “Wasted ‘n horny.”

Matt flung an arm around the bassist. “One of us ought to make sure they don’t get caught.”

“We’re not doing anythin’,” Miles repeated, the words a complaint. “Just huggin’.”

“All’s good, mate. Hug on,” assured Matt.

“I’ll do that, then,” Miles tossed back, pouty and stubborn as drunks were. Alex couldn’t be more thrilled. Miles’ idea of a defiant hug meant gluing their bodies together, head to toe, leaving not a dust of space between them. Lips coaxed against his ear, “’m a bit hard. Don’t tell anyone.”

He wasn’t sure if Miles was aware, but most of their friends had heard and sported smirks or snickered in response. Not that Alex cared all that much, but smashed, aroused Miles was to his enjoyment and not to their friends’ amusement. “Come on.” Taking a step away, his hand clung to that of his partner in crime and he towed him away. “Dance with me.”

“But,” wailed Miles, “I’m a bit—”

“Hard? Babe,” Alex let him know, licking his lips, “that thing you got there, it can cut diamonds.” And if they were anywhere else right now, he’d make some bloody good use of it. “Just hold me.”

Needing no more instructions than that, Miles swept his arms around him and locked him into the world’s most impressive hug.

Alex returned the hug with equal strength, struggling to keep the beaming smile on his face at a measured size.

He’d left him at the bar, with Nick, to take a quick trip to the loo. Alex had sobered up considerably by now, but Miles was far from that and he didn’t trust him not to get lost or just party on with a bunch of strangers. It had happened before. Miles being the friend-magnet that he was, found company anywhere and wasn’t all that choosy when it came to people. By the time he made it back, though, Nick was chatting with some guy ‘bout bass guitars and Miles was nowhere to be found.

Alex’s head fell. “Where is he?”

Nick looked around. “Uh, right there! With the redhead.”

“The—” Eyes darting out, scanning for redheads and sexy Brits, spotted the couple, and got pounced by a queasiness that showed up out of nowhere. Maybe ten feet away was a gorgeous woman, tall, with long hair and delicate features, gliding her slender hands down the arms of Miles, _his_ Miles, with clear intentions.

And Miles, knackered that he was, stood no chance against her. A goofy smile rested on his lips and he was amused by something she’d said. He nodded, and gesticulated, briefly halting her flirtations, only to stop and let her start all over.

It brought back the days of their tour when they’d gone out, when Taylor had shown up out of the blue, and Miles had ended up dancing with some hot chick.

It was that exact same sickness that had spread inside of him then that broke out now. His hand went up to his cheek, where the sting of the bee flared up again, shelling fits of pain down his nerves. Alex turned to Nick. “Headed home. Not feelin’ well.”

“Wait, Al, hold on!”

Alex didn’t.

**#Miles**

**#The morning after**

Head resting inside his palms, arms propped up on his thighs, Miles sat on the edge of Alex’s pool, feet dangling in the water, waiting for the blinds to lift. He was suffering from a brutal headache. The last time he’d gotten so bloody wasted, he’d couldn’t even recall. There were short reels of memory playing back, repeatedly. Grainy images of last night’s deeds. He and Alex, knotted around one another. Friends. Laughter. Some woman who’d made a move on him, one he’d politely shut down while introducing her to somebody else, somebody more single and less tied up in complications. And there was that memory of Nick telling him with sympathy that Alex had gone home, sick.

_Sick?_

_As if!_

If Alex had bailed for feeling sick, he’d have had to have suffered from a sudden onslaught of Ebola or the Plague or something equally deadly, for that fucker had toured through bouts of fever and partied while suffering from some nasty food poisoning. If that’s what he’d told Nick, he’d lied.

Miles checked the time by glancing at his phone. Almost noon. In that instant, the blinds of the living room windows were pulled up and Alex appeared on the other side of the sliding glass door, wearing nothing but boxers and a crinkly tee. Oh, that, and a startled look.

Waving his hand in his direction, sporting the finest sneer he could summon, Miles waited patiently.

The door slid open. “Stalkin’ me, huh?” Fingers smothered the wayward strands of hair. “You broke into my backyard. Tell me you didn’t jump the fence.”

“I didn’t jump the fence.”

Alex cocked his head to the side, hands against his hips. “You lying?”

“Yep.”

Anger flared up. “You promised you wouldn’t do it again, Mi. That’s fucking dangerous. If you want to break in, use the fucking key, will you?”

Miles couldn’t care less about jumping the fence and the dangers it held. Reigning his temper in, keeping his voice nonchalant and unemotional, he arched a brow. “Feelin’ better?”

“Not particularly, no,” Alex clipped. Two sets of eyes held each other in a harsh stare-off. “Bit queasy.”

“Bullshitting has that effect on people, I’ve been told.”

“Yeah? You’re familiar with that, I know.”

_Deep breaths, Miles. Deep breaths. Don’t let him bait you._

Alex went for the kill. “Had a nice night with the redhead?”

There it was! “For fuck’s sake, asshole. That’s what this is about?! I chatted with some woman for five fucking minutes and you bail on me? After everything you and I went through, I actually believed that we had a nice time last night!” He scarcely recalled much of it, but he also didn’t recall any drama – aside Alex’s early exit, that was – so that had to amount for something. He’d been nervous ahead of going. He’d feared it would spiral into yet another round of arguments. A bit of awkwardness notwithstanding, it had ended up being a pleasant night, though!

Until Alex had vanished.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” cranked Alex, crossing his arms. He leaned against the side of the door; gaze aimed at the ground. “And I don’t like being called a liar for something that’s the fucking truth!”

“Pick a truth, Alex! Sick or redhead, what tipped the needle? Stop fucking around!”

“Both, okay?” He spun away, blurting that, “I saw you and…”

“You got jealous,” probed Miles. Gone was the ire. The anger. The frustration. Withdrawing his feet from the cooling water, he got up. Step by step, he got nearer. “That it?”

When Alex realized that Miles was inbound, he shook his head, then stretched out an arm to block him. “Stay there. Stay back.”

“Or what?” He didn’t slow down. “ _You_ tell me to keep my distance? That a new one. Aren’t you the one pushing me to forget everything and just live in the moment?”

“Miles,” warned his friend, once more crossing his arms, which, this time, was an act of defense. “Don’t! ‘tis not the right moment for this.”

“There’s no right moment for this. Tell me, were you jealous?”

“You got a girlfriend and so do I.”

“You know, then.”

“I fucking do.” He retreated. Collided with the glass.

Miles cornered him. “Tell me.”

Alex set his jaw and ground his teeth. “You and I are friends. We fuck. We…we got something unique, alright? Something special. But—”

“But what,” pushed Miles, hands coming to trap him, one on each side of his head. Noses were a hair’s breadth apart. He could smell Alex’s morning breath, the stale mix of liquor and tobacco. It didn’t deter him one bit. He’d never minded it. He’d kiss him right here, right now. He might actually do it, too! “Speak up, Alex. Where’s that cockiness you flash around all the time? Fucking spill, will you? Were you jealous?”

“I. Was. Not.” Defiant as he was, he met Miles’ eyes with fiery ones. “I don’t get jealous.”

“I do.”

“What?” A crack in his armor. His voice softened. He sounded amazed. “You do?”

“All the time,” Miles confessed freely. “You’re hers, not mine. She gets to have you.”

Lids fluttering, features weakening, Alex no longer bit the words out, but breathed them instead. “I told you, I can break up with her if you want. If that’s what it takes—”

He didn’t get it. He just didn’t get it.

And Miles had reached the end of the road. He was in love with him. He’d tried to deny it, to get over it, to run from it, but none of it worked. The only thing left to do was own up to it. He angled forward, cupped Alex’s face, and met his willing lips with resolve. Slanting his mouth over his, taking and plundering and rewarding and caressing, thieving breath and gifting love, he caught ‘em and kissed him until his lungs burned and survival made it necessary to part. “Let me be as clear as I can. I want you to break up with Taylor. I want you to choose me. I want you to do it _not_ because I ask you to, but because you can’t stand not being with me. I want you to _want_ to end it with her. I never not wanted to be with you, Alex.” He let go. Stepped back. “I’m flying home at the end of the week. I’m breaking up with Hannah in person.”

“You are?” rasped his friend.

A nod rolled off his shoulders, eyes still fixed on him, on his wide gaze, his kissed lips, his stunned daze. “I’m in love with you. And I’ve made my choice. It’s time you make yours.”

It was a dangerous thing to do, to give somebody an option like that. Miles hadn’t meant to barge in on him like this. When he’d arrived here, he’d still been torn, unclear and undecided. Until he’d looked into Alex’s brown eyes and understood that even the best intentions in the world couldn’t keep him away.

And who knew?

Maybe Alex would say _yes_.

He was a brave one, his Alex, was he not?

Maybe there was hope.

After all, could it really get any worse?

Parting from him with a smile, Miles aimed for the door this time, and not the fence. He’d used up enough of his luck. What was left of it, he wanted to hold on to. “You know where to find me.”

* * *


	11. New Boots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next part. This one is the start of the second half of this story. Roughly two and a half years have passed since the end of the last part. Much has happened since then. Right now, you learn bits and pieces, but if you keep reading - which I hope - the blanks will be filled in and motivations become clearer. Enjoy! ❤️  
> As always, my thanks and my love to all of you who read my stories, share their thoughts, and leave kudos and likes.😘

**#June 2019**

**#Alex**

What a difference a door could make, thought Alex, as he stood in front of Miles’, shifting on the heels of his new boots. God, why was this so hard? How often had he walked through this one? A million times? More? From his index finger swung a key. Silver. Standard. The key-kind of key. In the old days, he’d had it with him at all times. It used to hang with the other keys, back, when all his keys had been friends and dangled happily in the presence of each other. These days? The whole thing made him snort. Not only were the people in his life unable to get along, but the places had also turned into rivals as well.

And Miles’ place, Miles’ key, much like Miles himself, had followed the path of his owner and avoided the ruckus by hiding away. He’d always preferred the easy way out. A little over a year ago, the key had fallen off the fob. Alex had wanted to put it back, but, as it always did, each and every time he intended to something, life butted in, distracting him, and so he’d dropped it in a drawer where he’d promptly forgotten about it. It wasn’t as though he’d needed it. What had once been a glorious friendship of blind trust, complete understanding, and marvelous experiences had morphed into a bloody rat’s nest of awkwardness and cutting silence.

Which was the reason he stared at the silver thing now, hesitant to use it. An album’s worth of reasons were hitting his brain in an endless onslaught, reminding him why he shouldn’t unlock a door that wasn’t his. They weren’t that kind of friends anymore. They had not spoken with each other in too damn long. They had quarreled – to put it nicely. Trust issues. Respect. Broken hearts. Betrayal. Personal boundaries and the pitfalls of it… The reason he didn’t do it, in the end, was the time. As in, the time on the clock. The most unimportant one.

 _Almost midnight_. _Ugh!_

_Screw it. No going back now._

He knocked quickly before he could change his mind.

Nothing happened.

Alex leaned forward, trying to make out noises. There was a chance that Miles might be asleep already. The guy had to get up before sunrise. Matt had told Alex about the jampacked weeks that lay ahead of Miles and those began with an early flight out of the country. How Alex hated those! The only way to manage one with his temper remotely intact was by getting as much sleep as possible during the night before. And he’d taught his friends well. None ever dared to knock on his door then!

The silence continued.

_Definitely asleep._

He knocked again. Louder. With a garnish of impatience.

“Bloody stop it,” a voice roared from inside the apartment. Dull footsteps filled the quietness of the night. The sound of a lock being undone rattled through the door. It got pulled open. “Fucking what—” Miles squinted into the brightness of the fully illuminated corridor, shielding his eyes as he adjusted them. As if not trusting his sight, he bent closer. “Alex?” Tiredness clung to his whole body like a vicious creature and he looked as though he’d kill for a pillow – or happily die cuddled up to one.

“Want wine?” asked Alex, wide awake and chipper, as he walked in, slipping past Miles’ blocking figure by turning sideways. It was an asinine thing to say after fifteen months spent in radio-silence, exchanging not a single word, but it was what blurted out of his mouth. The lips, shocking, he knew, worked faster than the brain. Especially his, when he was nervous. Which he was. “Brought some. You know, being a polite guest and all that. Considered bringing pizza but it’s late already and it’s Friday and it’s always such a hassle to get it now. All the drunks are out, craving late-night snacks.” Behind him, he heard the door being shut. A good sign. “They got their fucking phones with ‘em and I wasn’t hungry enough to pose for pictures just to get to the food.” As he made his way into the kitchen, reaching for the cupboard where the glasses used to be, he found it now contained the plates. Instead of fixating on what he'd come for, his mind zeroed in on that. “What the— Where’d you put your glasses? Why are you hiding ‘em from me?”

Miles’ kitchen was neatly arranged. Unlike his own, although right now he guessed he’d sooner find shit inside his own than in this one. The natural order of things had been disturbed! Alex glared at Miles accusingly, eyes were drawn together, mouth slightly agape. “You changed something. How could you?”

Inside the kitchen doorway hovered Miles, rubbing his eyes, still dazed. “Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare?”

“No question mark necessary,” grumbled Alex, going one by one through all the other cupboards. Nothing was where it used to be anymore. The plates, the mugs, even the damned cutlery had switched drawers. As if playing _Memory_ , he went back to the ones he’d already checked, seeing if he’d missed anything. And in an instant, his jaw hit the floor. “You got new mugs!”

“Huh?”

Alex shook his head in slow motion, watching Miles _still_ stuck in the bloody doorway, _still_ not supplying an explanation. “Who are you?” He inquired, staring at this sleepy stranger. “What is wrong with you?” There was only one possible answer to all of this. “I left you alone for far too long. I mean I know that our friendship was on break for a while.” Again, phrasing it kindly. “But I should have checked up on you!” He gave up on the glasses, uncorked the bottle, and took a swig straight from it. One for the shock. “Are you alright, Mi? Do you need to sit down? Would you like to explain all of this to me?” As Alex cocked his head from side to side, stretching his neck, he shrugged out of his jacket, grabbed the nearest chair, and sat down. “Talk to me, mate. What’s going on?”

For a long, _truly_ long moment, Miles held Alex’s eyes. And just when Alex thought he might burst and let it all out, Miles shook his head, turned around, and walked away.

“Miles?”

“Going back to bed,” muttered Miles. “This isn’t real.”

“Mi!” Alex jumped off the chair and hurried after Miles. Sluggish as his friend was, a snail had no difficulties catching up to him and it took him only three steps to reach his side. “Are you sleepwalking?”

“Must be.”

He snapped his fingers in front of him. “Wake up.” Snap. Snap. “Come on, wakey, wakey! It’s me, Alex. We used to be friends, a long time ago, and—” His face warped into a grimace “I can’t believe I’m quoting that fucking song. Pop rock,” he groused. “Whoever invented that shit. It’s like an excuse for shitty rock songs to exist.”

Miles came to a full stop. He faced Alex. Leaned in. Sharpened his gaze. And aimed his eyes at Alex’s.

Not giving a foot, but tilting his entire body backward, arching his brows in almost comical confusion, Alex held his stare.

Then, Miles poked his chest. Once. And the strangest look appeared, as though he’d expected him to evaporate. “You’re real, aren’t you?”

“Well.” Eyes crinkling, unable to help himself, Alex smirked. “There was a time when you called me _God_. There’s a debate about the realness of that one—”

“Fuck,” exploded his friend, throwing his hands, “Alex…” Miles wiped his face again, harsher this time. “What the bloody fucking hell are you doing here? Shit, I thought I was trapped in a nightmare.” His tiredness had made room for anger and he slid his sight back to where they’d come from. “Why were you going through my kitchen?”

“Looking for wine glasses,” said Alex, shrugging. Wasn’t it obvious? Hadn’t he mentioned so? “They weren’t where they used to be!”

“No…” sighed Miles, slouching. “No, they – I got a new kitchen. I rearranged.”

Alex perked up, tossed a quick glance over his shoulder, then strode back into the kitchen with the brisk speed of somebody on a mission, just to pause in bafflement at the sight in front of him. “Damn.” The kitchen was new.

Miles traipsed after him, fingers disappearing inside the short strands of his hair, rubbing his skull to release the frustration. “What is it?”

He hardly sounded like somebody who cared, but Alex indulged his question. “When did you get it? The new kitchen?”

“Few months ago. Wait, you remembered where the glasses were, but you didn’t notice that the whole kitchen was new?”

His movements stilled. “I noticed the little things,” clipped Alex, nose pulled into a sneer. Only to deflate in a split second. He hadn’t been here in so long. In more than a year. Almost two. He knew, of course. Yet there was a difference between being vaguely aware of something and being slapped in the face with hard evidence. What else had changed? Stepping out of the kitchen, into the living room, he took everything in, lingered on the familiar items, reassuring himself that he was indeed inside Miles’ apartment, then spotting new additions and feeling, once more, thrown for a loop.

“I need to see the bedroom,” Alex announced.

“Oh no,” disagreed Miles with vehemence. “You need to tell me why you’re here! Then _I_ have to go back to bed and _you_ need to go home. I have to leave early an—”

“I know, I know,” brushed Alex off, disinterested. “Early flight. All that.”

Eyes shot open wide. “You know?” His face turned hard. “Come on, Alex! Are you here to annoy me or what is it? You couldn’t be bothered to drop by for fifteen months and _tonight_ you show up?”

“Couldn’t be bothered?” At that, Alex took grave offense, pivoting around with resentment. The fast-spiking temper served as a neat reminder that coming here could end up being a mistake of massive proportions. “You didn’t want me here. You still don’t!”

“‘cause I got a fucking flight to catch!”

“In. The. Morning,” stretched Alex, irritated. “Not now!”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Miles plopped down onto the sofa, and the second he sat down, his entire body drained of energy. Face buried inside his palms, he growled into his hands. Calmer than before, powerless, the words that came from him signaled his defeat. “What do you want?” This wasn’t the question of somebody who was happy about the company he was in. This was somebody who wanted to be left alone.

But Alex let go of his bitterness for now. “My friend,” he said after a moment of profuse muteness and sat down next to him. Miles wasn’t in the mood for games, that much was obvious, and while he hadn’t exactly played them, he hadn’t volunteered any answers, either. Sinking his head, and subduing his demeanor, he, too, felt himself losing his power. When he’d arrived, he’d spotted the change in the kitchen and jumped at it. He’d grasped the opportunity to run into a distracting, stupid chat to steal from Miles any chance of kicking him to the curb. But now? The time for fucking around had gone. Come had the time for hard truths. His voice rose to the somber occasion. “I was told I should make an effort, lest I wanted to lose you for good. Which I don’t want,” he stressed. It angered him that people even entertained the notion. How could they possibly think that he was willing to give up on Miles?

Miles raised his head and met his eyes. Alex’s hopes crushed. He’d anticipated a positive reaction. At the very least, he’d wished for a neutral one. Here he was, making amends. But his friend seemed suspicious at best. “And after a year of not giving a fuck you decided that tonight is the night to do it?”

“For starters,” vexed Alex, “stop saying I didn’t give a fuck. It’s not true! It’s fucking complicated. So, don’t sit here and pretend like I’m the asshole and you’re the victim. It’s fifty-fifty in case you forgot.”

At that, Miles averted his eyes, mumbling a meek, “yeah.”

“And I’ve been meaning to drop by for weeks,” he confessed. “You know me, alright? Takes me some time to, like, do something that’s hard.” He’d set out for Miles’ apartment around noon. But then his nerves had gotten the better of him. He’d passed a shop and bought shoes, instead. Then he’d returned home, to drop ‘em off. After that, he’d returned home a second time, to put the new boots on. By that time, dinner needed to be had. He’d spent an hour deciding on what he wanted, only to settle for a dry slice of bread after failing to come up with an answer. While eating that, he’d switched on the tv. A comic had been on. Then another one. And now it was midnight. Fingers gesticulated. An outlet for all that anxiety surging through his body. There was so much that he wanted to say, to explain. If only it were possible. There was a mass in his throat beyond which certain words simply wouldn’t go. “Been dragging my feet. I’m aware. But you’re fucking leaving the country in the morning and Matt said you’d be gone for weeks, months maybe. This shit has been going on for too long. I’m fucking done with it. Hear me?” His arm flew up, slapping it in the direction of the other room. “For fuck’s sake, you got a new kitchen and didn’t tell me about it!”

Sadness entwined with amusement played on Miles’ face at Alex’s outburst. “It’s just a kitchen, Al.”

“There was a time in our friendship when you called me from halfway across the world because you changed your coffee brand. It’s not just a kitchen, Miles. You know it and I know it.” He leaned back into the cushions, pulling his legs up, picking his nails. It was his way of telling him he’d every intention of digging his heels in. “I get that you got other things on your mind right now. And I know that we won’t fix anything tonight. All the shit you and I have done…takes ages to sort that out! Just…I didn’t want to go another month or two with this pile of rubbish between us. We can bloody hash this out when you’re back.” And boy, did he look forward to that! Alex inwardly rolled his eyes. “In the meantime, I’d like it if you and I talked every once in a while.”

“‘bout the weather,” quipped Miles, lips tugged into a sleepy smile. “Or current events?”

In tiniest fragments, optimism resurged. Alex dared to joke back. “We can discuss K-pop groups and the Kardashians if you want. M’not picky.”

Miles scooted up the couch and let his head fall against the back. Increment by increment, his eyes wafted close. The silence was no longer stinging. Alex risked thinking it became endurable. And naturally, which made him laugh, Miles was the one to break it. “Wanna hear something completely crazy?”

“Always.”

“I could fall asleep standing up, that’s how tired I am. And you know better than anyone that I hate it so much when people drop by unannounced late at night.” There was a flicker of something that crossed Miles’ eyes as he drawled the words with much exhaustion. “But…at the same time, I bloody miss you. Al…I’m glad you came.” The last part was breathy, almost indistinguishable curtesy to the yawn that slipped from Miles’ throat.

The words were balm to his badly damaged heart. Miles yawned again. Alex gave his friend’s thigh a smack. “Go already.” It wasn’t what he wanted. It was far from it. After a year and more spent apart, he wanted to sit here with him. Enjoy his company. Take in his scent. Look at him, maybe stare a bit, and count all the little things that had changed on his face since the last time he’d seen him. Like that tiny little spot that looked like he’d nicked himself while shaving. Or the different skin tone that let him know Miles had been out in the sun a lot. His hair had a different length, now. There was a sadness to his eyes that had never been there before. And his posture lacked his former confidence. But Miles was right. It was late. And he needed sleep. And Alex had gotten what he’d wanted. He’d made a successful first step towards establishing contact. Baby steps. “Get your rest.”

“’kay,” murmured Miles, making groaning noises as he moved off the couch and into an upright position. “Night, ‘lex.”

“Night, Mi.”

As Miles shuffled off toward the bedroom, Alex took over the freed space and sprawled out on the couch. One arm darted out to switch the table light on, giving the room a bit more clarity and definition. Little had changed, and yet, so much. The big items were still where they used to be, but the devil hid in the details. All traces of Alex had vanished from this place. He’d stored an acoustic here, once. One of his favorites. Always prepared to jam with Miles whenever inspiration or boredom hit. Nowadays, it collected dust in his guestroom three blocks away. An old novelty lamp had for a long time lived on the shelf by the large windows. A gummy bear lamp. In red. It had been a joke gift from him years ago. Where Alex had expected laughter, Miles had dazzled him with a beaming smile. He’d loved the lamp. “My favorite gift,” he used to say. He’d christened the bear _Alex_.

Alex couldn’t spot it anywhere. He wouldn’t blame Miles if he’d tossed it into the trash. Or thrown it out the window. He’d said and done enough shit to deserve that and more. Rolling to his side, his eyes caught the record collection that made up half the wall. It had grown considerably. What a difference a year could make. Did it contain records he’d never heard of? It was likely. Miles had always possessed a talent for finding the gems that Alex skipped over in his rush for the new shit. His limbs felt heavy and his bones weary, but he got off at any rate and walked over, taking a closer look. The potted plant between the selection of vintage vinyl and the newer records was coated with a thick layer of dust. There wasn’t a single fleck of dust on any of the music.

_Least his priorities haven’t changed._

Eyes darted across the shelves. _The Beatles_ , _The Kinks_ , and _The Rolling Stones_ shared a row. He’d asked Miles once what kind of organizational system he preferred. “Chaos,” Miles had replied, sporting his unique and unmatched smile. “If I put it into order, I only look at the ones I want to look at. This way, I can land on something I might not have considered listening to.”

The logic was flawless. Alex had swiftly copied the system.

The faded hues of an album sleeve caught his attention. That shallow grey had turned almost purple, altered by decades of withering away on shelves. His fingers went there and he fished it out, refusing a guess for he’d fail, no doubt. Rounded letters named the band and made the corners of his lips twitch up. _The Yardbirds_. He hadn’t listened to that one in years. He was pretty sure he’d listened to it only because Miles had told him to. It might have been this exact record.

Before long, Alex had Miles’ record player fired up, and the easier notes of a past long gone filled his ears. It was simpler, back then, was it not? Everything in music and life must have seemed new. Inventions were still something that could be experienced by the touch of a hand. Today, every big invention ended up being nothing more than yet another app on a phone that was overloaded to begin with.

Sometimes, the wish to make a song as classic and as refined as those old tunes materialized as the big white whale of his life. He could write in concise ways, he discerned. He’d been told often enough. But there was a singular quality to the well-aged ones. Where he strived for perfection, they didn’t strive at all. They just wrote music.

He leaned back against the shelf and listened.

_I got a Maserati G.T._

_With snakeskin upholstery._

_I got a charge account at Goldblatt's,_

_But I ain't got you._

_I got a closet full of clothes,_

_But no matter where it goes,_

_It keeps a ring in the nose,_

_But I ain't got you._

_I got a tavern and a liquor store._

_I play the numbers, yeah, four forty-four._

_I got a mojo, yeah, don't you know,_

_I'm all dressed up with no place to go._

_I got women to the right of me._

_I got women to the left of me._

_I got women all around me,_

_But I ain't got you._

_No, I ain't got you._

Wasn’t that the ugly truth? A self-deprecating snort skidded from his lips, fleeting as it was. The past years played back in front of his eyes. A movie he was forced to watch and didn’t see for fun. How important it had been to him, to have it all and to keep it all. He’d reveled in amassing more and refused to give up on a single thing. Why, he wondered now? Why had he held onto to things that had meant so little to him? Why had he let the one thing that mattered most go, only to clutch piles of boxes of hollow possessions that he scarcely tolerated?

_I got a tavern and a liquor store._

_I play the numbers, yeah, four forty-four._

_I got a mojo, yeah, don't you know,_

_I'm all dressed up with no place to go._

_I got women to the right of me._

_I got women to the left of me._

_I got women all around me,_

_But I ain't got you._

_No, I ain't got you._

_No I ain't got you._

God, he loved the song. The way the notes emphasized the words. A plain exclamation point at the end of the stanza, delivered by a set of well-applied strings. More tunes filled the air. He couldn’t stop listening. Until the last one rang out and left him with a single wish.

Couldn’t it get a little easier?

Just once, couldn’t the solution fall into his lap, instead of running away from him?

As he mulled the eons-old dilemma of mistakes made, the muscles in his neck turned stiff and sore. Arching, stretching, removing himself from the position he was in, Alex stood up, switched the record player off, and headed for the kitchen where he’d left his jacket. Strange one, the new kitchen. Sleek and modern and almost too clean. Fancier than what he was used to. The surfaces were smooth and shiny. An awfully counterproductive trait of something that was destined to get dirty if used properly.

The cupboards that Alex had opened – which were all of them – sported neat fingerprints that made him chuckle.

 _He’ll be cleaning this one a lot,_ he thought with just a sprinkling of dramatic flair, _wiping away the evidence of my existence._

Alex clutched the jacket, made his way back to the living room to kill the light, slid his left arm into the sleeve, then stopped. He pulled his arm out again.

Dropped the jacket.

And aimed for Miles’ bedroom.

He didn’t knock. He never had and he saw no reason to start now. Well, that was a lie. He saw plenty of reasons to knock. Alex discarded them summarily.

Pushing the door apart, watching his steps and peering into the darkness, carefully avoiding tripping over anything as he tip-toed inside as quietly as possible, he all but jumped out of his skin when Miles flicked the bedside lamp on. “Jesus Fucking Christ on a jet plane,” he roared, eyes small and pinched together, blinded. One hand laid against his hammering heart. Alex glowered Miles’ way. “Warn a guy, will ya? I thought you were sleeping!”

“Says the guy,” countered Miles, snarling, “who sneaks into bedrooms in the middle of the fucking night! What do you want?”

“Sleep. Kill the light.” To his utter amazement, Miles did. Alex kicked his boots off and crawled up the bed. The left side sat empty and it caused the strangest sensation inside his chest. Here was somebody that, long ago, loved the wide spaces of a massive bed. Now, he slept on one side, as if by conscious choice leaving an empty spot for somebody.

_A spot for me, maybe?_

No, figured he. But slipped into it anyway. Turning to his side, hands tugged beneath his head, he faced Miles. Even inside the darkness, he could make out the wary lines that had carved into his features. Those questioning angles. Those alarmed eyes. There was nothing relaxed about his posture and it hurt Alex for it made it clear that Miles no longer felt at ease around him. “I just want to lay here, I swear. Above the covers. Hands to myself.”

After a beat, Miles wondered, “Why?” His voice was hardly more than a whisper, but it was screaming with emotion. Fear, concern, worry, even traces of longing, which sounded sweeter than they had ever done before, for they came out despite Miles’ definite effort to hide them.

It became a little harder to keep his hands to himself. The craving to reach out and touch him was drumming through his body. “You’re about to leave,” he replied to Miles’ question, his tone matching that of his friend, but carrying a different set of sentiments. Yearning, loneliness, regret. “I don’t like that.”

The crisp sheets rustled as Miles shifted, to mirror Alex’s position. “What changed?” his former friend asked with insistence. “Why are you here now? You went a year without so much as looking my way. Why now, Alex?”

“Because I went a year without you and it’s been the worst year of my life. It’s like a part of me is missing. Everything that I felt for the past months, I only felt in half. Didn’t you want to see me at all? You could have made the first step.” A part of him had waited, day after day, week after week, for him to show up.

“Did you want me to?”

There was a painful rawness to Miles’ voice as he asked it. An amount of uncertainty that had Alex’s heart dropping so fast that a flash of coldness overcame him. “Of course, I wanted that! How can you even think that?” There were less than ten inches of space between them, and yet Alex would have measured the distance the size of the Atlantic. “I want you in my life. You _are_ a part of my life.”

Miles’ lips tilted into a smile that was too desolate for Alex to look at. “You moved on so fast.”

He had not. “You let go so fast. When she and I broke up—”

“You were together for over two years. You had her name inked into your skin. Did you really think I’d knock on your door while she was still packing up her shit?”

“I hoped so, yes,” disclosed Alex. So much time had gone by and he still remembered the many times he’d stood in the hallway of his house, watching the door, waiting for a knock. Every time somebody had told him that Miles had been in town, Alex had waited. “Why did you think I broke up with her?”

“You?” Miles scowled. The shadows reflected from his face in other ways. “She told me that she was the one who…” The pace of his sentence slowed down as he searched for the words to continue.

“Why didn’t you ask _me_?”

“Yeah,” snorted Miles. The insinuation made him shake his head. “How’d that have gone, huh? Hey Al, it’s Mi. Did you end it? Wanna meet up?”

“Yes,” said Alex, not a trace of humor in his voice. “I would have said _yes_. In a split second.”

“And how was I supposed to know that?” Miles countered, torn and also sad. “You never even reacted to me and Hannah breaking up. I told you I’d do it. You knew. You never… I thought you didn’t care.”

“Because I suck at being a grown-up,” Alex blurted out. “Because I can’t just come out and say, Hey Mi, it’s Al. Did you end it? Wanna meet up? I get fucking tongue-tied. You know that! I only _seem_ confident. The leather jackets help.” It wasn’t the right time to joke and make light of it, but true to what he was saying, he was getting fucking tongue-tied. “It’s not like I even found out from you. I found out from Nick. I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d have said something.”

“You knew I was going to do it. You knew _why_ I did it. Maybe,” mumbled Miles through shaky breaths, “I didn’t want to appear desperate. Ever consider that?”

Alex edged nearer. Just a fraction of a bit. “What’s desperate about it?”

There it was again, that weighted silence that hung in the air like a persistent raincloud, one which refused to shed its water.

Miles swallowed hard. “You knew what I needed you to do and you didn’t do it. Not then. I had no reason to believe that you wanted me to reach out. And that hasn’t changed, has it?” Then asked, virtually shy, “Can we change the topic?”

That gentle yet frantic request, innocent that it was, almost made Alex reach out. What he would do for a single touch, just to create contact. To feel him underneath his fingertips. He wanted to say _yes_ , but asked, “Why?”

Locking gazes in the dark, Miles exhaled. Rolled on his back without ending eye contact. Then spoke the truth that Alex had done such a great job at ignoring. “You have a girlfriend.”

He did.

How was it that there was always a girlfriend in his life at the most inopportune times? Lips fell into a grin. A hollow, helpless one. “No talking substantial emotional shit with the non-single guy, then?” Probably a good idea. Tonight wasn’t the night for that discussion. And what was to say? That he wished things had gone differently? Was it too far out there to assume that Miles knew already and shared the sentiment? He glimpsed at Miles sideways and the smile crooked into something cheeky. “Fine.” Perhaps his friend had a point, after all. “Let’s talk Kardashians.”

Laughter from Miles. Real, genuine, heartfelt laughter. “What’s it with you and that show?”

“It’s like a microcosmos of everything,” Alex informed him.

“You’re a stan, now?”

“I’m an Alex,” said Alex, confused.

The laughing became louder. “For somebody who’s got a bloody army of devoted fans, you know shit about fan culture.”

“I know all I need to know. It’s bad enough that I have to pose for pictures to not piss anybody off. I dutifully sign all the crap they want me to. God knows why anybody would want my scrawny name on anything. And I smile and act polite, as far as I can endure it, which has to be enough. I make music,” he declared, groveling, “I’m not a bloody social-something-media whatever.”

“Influencer,” suggested Miles with a glint and a toothy smile.

“I can see your face in the dark,” Alex felt inclined to remind him. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Harmless fun at your expense? There can never be _too much_ about it.” Miles switched over onto his stomach and crossed his arms underneath his head, never once looking away. “What’cha doing these days? Working on a new album? Tour’s over and nobody is worse at relaxing than you are.”

Alex gave a shrug. “Truth be told, I’m bored. I tried writing some, but there’s nothing to write about.” A long, drawn-out breath filled the night. “Hung out with the band and they’re all eager and motivated. They’re constantly messing ‘round with the instruments. Jamie has this killer riff that I’m dying to put into a song but it’s, like, I’m all written-out or whatever. Each time a line hits, I get excited. I fiddle with it. And then? Nothing.” As though he’d lost his joy for writing. Or, rather, his talent for it. He no longer recalled which muscles to use.

“Maybe you’re trying too hard. It’s what happened to me. You have to let the words find you.”

“I’m an invisible ghost who leaves neither scent nor footsteps behind. Really, if any words are out there looking for me, they wouldn’t have the first clue about where to find me.”

“Poetic,” mocked Miles.

Alex chuckled. “Bite me.”

“Been there, done that.”

“Enjoyed it, too,” bounced Alex back.

This time, the smile on Miles’ face developed into one of unbearable affection. Far from sad, it was the kind of smile one wore when fondly swimming in memories and wishing one could go back in time and relive them all. The tips of Alex’s fingers itched with hunger, starving for a single moment of a physical connection. He was tempted to slap his thigh again, just to get a quick fix.

“You cold?”

“Huh?”

Miles uncurled his arm, then extended it toward Alex, tugging on the comforter he rested upon. “Looked like you shivered or something. You can slip under. Don’t want you to freeze to death.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll ravish you?”

“Will you?”

Shit, to his addled mind it sounded almost as though Miles hoped he would. Squeezing his eyes shut, biting back the urge to fall into that trap – or jump into it, headfirst – he replied with a grateful smile and a solemn promise. “I told you once, I won’t ever put you into a position in which you’re uncomfortable, again.”

“What’cha waiting for, then?”

_A sign that you trust me._

Fingers gripped the fabric of the cover. Miles lifted it as Alex shimmied beneath it. When it was done, he tipped his head once. A tiny nod. “I really need to get some rest. Mind if I catch some sleep?”

Did he? “God, no. I’ve been keeping you up way too long! Sleep!”

“Al?”

“Yes?”

“Are you really alright? You can tell me. You know that, right? If anything’s troubling you?”

 _Don’t do it_ , he warned himself. _Don’t you dare fuck this up and touch him!_ “All’s fine. Swear. Go to sleep, Mi. Don’t think about it.” And, truly, there was nothing to worry about. Alex had it well, did he not? He had everything he’d ever wanted. A pretty girlfriend who gave him space. A career. Recognition. The respect of his peers. Friends. Fun. A life without financial troubles. What more could he possibly want, right?

The man in front of him had dozed off in no time. Snoring ever so lightly, his upper lip had curved the tiniest bit, giving his face the impression of a sneer. Long lashes marked the end of tender eyelids that lay over his eyes. And an expression of complete contentment had fallen over him.

Alex would give it all for a single night in his arms. All and more. “I love you,” he mouthed, quietly, without a single sound. “Always have, always will.”

**#Miles**

Oh, it felt good. It felt incredible. It felt better than anything he’d experienced in a fucking long time. Who would have thought that sleeping could be such a satisfying, profound sensation? Miles slouched forward, narrowing his hold on a whopping, firm pillow inside his arms. Funny pillow, that one. Far away in his head, in a remote area where the sun had already begun to rise, he marveled if he’d gotten a new pillow and forgotten about it. It sure smelt distinctive, different from all the other ones he was used to. This one appeared to have its own gravitation, drawing on his subconscious to get him to move closer. It was warm, too. Wonderfully so. And, again, it smelled damn good! Miles buried his face deep into the cozy surface and breathed in. “Mmmhh.”

Or maybe it wasn’t a pillow. Maybe it was a person. Maybe, mused Miles, he was having that delightful dream again. The one of him and… _somebody_. A nameless, shapeless somebody. One that smelled like a certain somebody, but one that Miles refused to acknowledge as that. Because dreaming about him was about a million and one shades of wrong and inappropriate and yes, also wildly pleasurable. That was beside the point, though. What mattered was that it was a dream and therefore, despite everything, Miles could bask in its glory without so much as suffering from even a whiff of guilt. Lips latched onto the pillow, which in his mind was the nameless, faceless man who may or may not listen to the name _M’lex_ , which was a name that had zero in common with _Alex_. He kissed his neck, putting all his lust into it. The skin had a tantalizing texture, nothing too delicate, but still pliant and inviting. A bit cottony. It tasted of sultry adventures under a setting sun and of stars that didn’t hang from the sky but appeared in front of one’s eyes if one got lucky. There used to be a time when he got lucky often.

Beneath his fingertips, imagined Miles, the temperature increased. The heating figure, the body, the pillow, whatever it was – his mind lost the ability to keep track between wishful thinking and dirty dreaming – began to give way and he dug his nails in, keeping it in place, compensating it for its submissiveness with revering caresses.

A strange noise drilled into his land of dreams. “Stop it, will you? This is gettin’ weird. You’re freakin’ me out.”

“What?” he asked, peeved to be disturbed at such a time. Where the hell was he? What voice was that? Was there somebody else in his bed? Jesus, was he even in his own bed? Oh God, did he hook up with anyone and forgot about it? Peering through barely opened eyes, Miles squinted against the unforgiving light of sunrise. Only to get slapped in the face by the even harsher glare of Alex Turner.

_Fuck!_

It wasn’t a dream anymore.

It was a pillow.

And he’d made out with it.

Something stuck to his lower lip. It felt weird. Ticklish.

“Feather,” Alex explained, eyes colored in wariness, as he hesitantly extended his arm toward Miles’ face, to pluck it from his lips. After that, he removed the pillow from his reluctant arms, using entirely too much muscle for this early a time and this slothful a Miles. “Let me just…take that away.” Alex threw it off the bed.

His pillow. His lover. Miles grumbled in protest, more noise than a word. “Nargh!” His back hit the cold mattress. Might as well have landed on a bed of nails. Frame by frame the events of the last night hit his consciousness, a staccato of intertwining images that so far only made vague sense. There was a dim flashback that included his kitchen and wine. One that contained happiness. And one of uncomfortable silence. “Are we…?” The words came out soaked in panic. “Please tell me we didn’t…”

“Fuck?” Alex groaned into his hands, which he’d covered his face with. “That’d have been nice. Could really use something to get rid of this tension inside of me. One which your dream-induced sex-crave did shit to help! All that moaning woke me up! But, rest assured,” Alex said, meeting his look of terror with one of mirth. “I behaved admirably. I didn’t lay a single finger on you. You, however, fucked up big time and I won’t let you forget it. _You_ , my friend, humped a pillow!”

It was cold. The bed was small. The thing had been there. Available. It had been inevitable. He’d been dead to the world. Dreaming. A fever-dream! He couldn’t be held accountable for his actions when his mind was fast sleep, could he? Miles scooted further away, minimizing the risks of doing that dreadful thing again with Alex instead of a pillow, now that he was awake. Muttering a sheepish, “weird dream,” underneath his breath, Miles tried to sneak a peek below the sheets. Good, he was wearing sweats. There was a bit of a _stiff condition_ going on there that he’d really love to hide for the time being. The morning, so far, had been mortifying enough. Oh no. He’d drooled, too, had he not? His cheek felt sticky. Stealing a look, he felt his ears burning up at the sight of Alex’s smirk.

“Oh yeah,” drawled Alex, entirely too awake for Miles’ taste. “That’s it. A dream ‘bout a pillow. That a new fetish of yours? Pillow-fucking?”

“Grnnn.”

“Did you just snarl at me?” Alex’s brows flew up. Miles didn’t see. He could _feel_ it for it made the hairs on his neck stand up.

“It’s too fucking early for this. Takin’ a shower.” Legs off the mattress, cover tossed aside, Miles paused and dared to hope. “Any chance you’ll be gone by the time I’m done?”

Behind him, he sensed his shifting on the mattress. “Don’t count on it.” The covers were moved around. “I’m not the one who’s got a flight to catch. I can sleep in.”

“Sleep at home,” begged Miles.

“Dream on,” Alex tossed back. Then chuckled. “Or better not. Pillows and showers don’t mix well.”

More snarling.

By the time he’d finished his shower – and he’d really taken his time, even for his standards – Alex was utterly asleep, stretched out inside the two-twenty by two-twenty bed like it was his own personal kingdom of slumber. Miles even lacked the drive to roll his eyes. As soon as he’d buttoned up his shirt, he flung the wet towel Alex’s way, but that he put some serious élan into.

“Fuck— Miles?!” Alex raised his head, eyes filled with the might of a thousand thunderstorms.

He couldn’t care less. “I have to leave soon. Get up already!”

“Just leave, damnit!”

“I’m leaving the country,” he told him, enunciating each syllable to make certain he’d get it. “I’d like to lock the door behind me. That should sound reasonable even to you.”

“Got my own key. Go.”

Shoulders sagged. “A-a-a-a-a-leeeeeex!” If common sense failed, cantankerous whining might do the trick. “Go-o-o-o-o awa-a-a-ay!”

Hands shot out from beneath the covers. Alex grabbed the other pillow, crushed it into capitulation, then shoved it beneath his head. A gesture of pure, unfiltered, stubborn protest.

 _A simple Fuck You! would have sufficed, too_ , thought a cranky Miles.

Grabbing his already packed suitcase, he left the bedroom. Between stumbling over his _dear friend’s_ carelessly discarded leather jacket on the floor of his living room, and tossing over an uncorked bottle of obscenely expensive red wine while trying to hit the power button of the coffee maker, Miles judged this morning ruined before the clock even hit seven a.m.. “Fucking shit! Ugh!” Damned red wine had spilled everywhere. “Bloody Alex!” He grabbed the dish towel and mopped it up.

“Can’t you let a guy get some rest, for fuck’s sake?” Wearing his outfit from last night, plus an extra of approximately half a thousand wrinkles that threatened to forever ruin his pressed shirt and to maybe cause permanent damage to his sleep-carved cheeks – a guy could hope, right? – Alex hovered inside the doorway and scowled. “Do you always yell around in the morning or is it because you won’t see your pillow again for weeks on end?”

 _Do not engage,_ Miles inwardly warned himself. _He’s goading you. Do not engage!_

“I mean, if you need it for sex only, I got an inflatable travel pillow I could lend you. Just don’t return i—”

Miles tossed the red wine-drenched dishtowel at him.

Alex’s jaw hit the floor.

Both watched, transfixed, as it stained the pristinely white shirt, only to land on the floor with a dull thud. “Oops,” said Miles, all sweet and innocent. Smirking.

How strange.

He suddenly felt that much better.

Alex still struggled to pick up his jaw. “That,” he commented dryly, “was uncalled for.”

“That,” retorted Miles, standing up, “was me being nice. Could have aimed for your face.”

“Hundred and fifty bucks of red wine and what’s it I get for it? A ruined shirt. Prepare to have your closet raided.” Alex crossed his arms with smug expectation. “Where’s my coffee?”

Taking two paced steps toward him, lips knitted together into a firm, thin line, Miles put his fingertip up against Alex’s chin to lift his head, making their eyes meet. “Quick warning: Don’t push it.”

“Push it? I—”

Miles arched up a brow.

Alex closed his mouth.

“Wise move,” agreed Miles. And winked. “’bout that pillow…”

It was Alex’s turn to stutter, eyes growing wide with dread. “Er…the…uh…I was joking. We were joking? Please tell me we were joking!”

Back in front of the coffee maker, Miles cracked up. “How fucked up do you think I am?”

“Jesus,” cursed Alex, wading across red wine-stained formerly white tiles toward a chair, onto which he sank like somebody who’d used up his energy for the moment. “Had me worried there.”

Placing a mug in front of him, Miles snickered. “You have a dirty mind.”

“Don’t you know?” Fingers curled around the coffee. “Thanks. Spill it, how long will you be gone?”

With his own mug in hand, Miles sat down across from him. “Four, maybe six weeks. Not sure. Maybe a pause in between. We’ll see where it goes. Got some festivals in the South. Some Fred Perry stuff. A few days in the sun to relax. The _Celine_ show in Paris.”

“Paris?” Ears perked up. “When?”

“Middle of July. ‘bout four weeks from now.”

Prospects crushed, Alex’s eyes fell. “Shit. Probably be in LA then.”

“David’s wedding. I know. Had to pull out.”

“Too bad. Could have danced together, you and I.”

“A rumba? A tango? You on heels, in a skirt?”

“The macarena,” Alex tossed back, sticking out his tongue. “And if anyone’s wearing heels, it’s you. I saw those silver boots on the floor by your bed.”

“Sleek, ey?” Miles beamed with pride. He’d spotted ‘em in a store, hadn’t even bothered to check the price tag, and drawn his credit card faster than he could play a riff. Any riff. “New.”

“You’re bloody insane. Can’t wait for you to wear ‘em.”

And Miles couldn’t wait to put ‘em on, just to show off for him. His heart became heavy at the thought of goodbye. “Car will be here soon. Gotta grab a few more things…” Anything to busy himself and not consider canceling or pushing the trip. Damnit, now that Alex was back in his life, he suddenly cared very little about leaving. He always did that. Always lured him in with his charm and his smile and his ravishing looks. Even with a red wine stain the size of Texas on a shirt that looked like a 3-D print of the Alps, he was still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

Alex nodded gloomily, watching as Miles gathered this and that. “How long until—”

“The car arrives?” finished Miles. “Few minutes?”

“Ah. Look, if you need a place to crash in Paris…I mean I’ll be in LA anyway, so…”

His voice boomed from the living room. “Thanks!” Once he’d amassed an armful of items, his wallet, his charger, his notebook, he returned to the kitchen and dumped all of it into his backpack. He tossed in a bottle of water as well. Alex, meanwhile, made himself a sandwich. “You’re not only sleeping in my bed, you’re eating my food as well?”

“I’m not eating your food _yet_ ,” Alex informed him as he turned Miles’ way, holding up the sandwich. “For you. Chicken, cheese, tomato, and green salad. Your favorite.” He wiggled it. “Take it. You’re the one who said not to travel on an empty stomach. I know you. You get hungry by the time you reach the airport and then you go and buy sweets. You get a sugar rush and won’t be able to sit still for the whole flight.”

If Alex had gone and bought him a Rolex, Miles wouldn’t have cared. That was money. It didn’t mean anything to him. But this one? Making him a sandwich, demonstrating how well he knew him? It was such a small gesture, and yet it gripped his heart and squeezed it hard. “Thank you,” he croaked with a tiny voice, intensely affected by something so trivial yet so meaningful.

The doorbell rang.

“Car’s here,” Alex spoke into this strange and loaded moment.

Miles quickly pulled a plastic bag from one of the drawers, bagging the sandwich. “I’ll eat on the way,” he promised, dropping it into the backpack as well. Then he straightened up, faced Alex, and delayed the inescapable. “Got to go now.”

“Yes,” nodded Alex, shifting his weight on his feet, rubbing his hands together.

A nervous gesture. Miles knew him well, too. “Come here,” he exclaimed, flinging both arms around him and giving him that one special hug that was reserved only for him. The first one in two years. Maybe even more. How incredible it felt. Tight and real. Two bodies touching everywhere, all at once. Lips brushed against Alex’s cheeks when Miles hushed out some last words. “I’ll call, I promise. I’ll make an effort.”

“Swear I will, too,” Alex replied, clinging to him. “Gonna miss you.”

“Miss you, too.” It was tough to let go. Almost painful. How had he managed for over a year? How had he managed until last night? It was impossible to understand now.

Alex let go first. “Go, now. Don’t want you to be late.” Fingers didn’t fall away from him. They parted in slow-motion, full of reluctance.

With a smile and a nod, he reached for his backpack, put it on, and turned.

“Oh, hold up!” Alex grabbed Miles’ phone from the counter and strode up to him, only to land dead center inside the sticky wine stain with his white tennis socks. “Shit, damnit!” Eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. “Here’s your phone.” Absentmindedly inspecting the damage to his formerly white footwear, he reached up, cupped Miles’ cheek with one hand, and casually met his lips for a peck.

Miles couldn’t believe what was happening. The sandwich had undone him. The hug had been nearly unbearable. But a kiss? A fucking kiss? And damn Alex for not even meaning to do it. Of that, Miles was certain. It was the kind of innocent kiss that married couples exchanged out of habit more than anything.

It happened so fast, so unceremoniously, that Miles couldn’t even kiss him back! Not that he wanted to!

Tearing his lips away as quickly as they’d arrived, Alex stared at him wide-eyed and with the demurest, shiest of smiles, clearly as confounded as Miles was. And as unsure about what to do next. Seconds ticked by. It was quiet enough to hear the chirping of birds through closed windows.

Miles could even perceive the swish of air as Alex breathed in and out. Until the pattern came to a pause and something wicked his friend’s face crossed. Out of nowhere, there were fingers at the back of Miles’ head. Fingers that dug into his hair. A hand that drew his head forward.

“I have to apologize for this, won’t I?” That wickedness on Alex’s lips surged and produced a grin of the finest order. “Hate doing that. Apologizing, I mean. And there’s so much I have to apologize for, already.” The grip on Miles’ hair became demanding. “It should be worth it.” With that, he hauled him in and claimed his mouth with a power that all but took his legs out. Falling forward, straight into his arms, Miles moaned into the lip lock, far too startled to even fathom what was happening. His body had taken over. His head was out of service. It wasn’t even a wild kiss by any standards. No tongue. Just lips pressing together. A bit of friction, at most. But what an experience!

Maybe a minute, maybe a year later, Alex let up. Licked his lips. And flashed that one winning smile that attacked him right at the core of his best intentions. “Sorry.”

“Yeah,” hushed Miles, entirely inept to think straight. “Me, too.” Then he took Alex’s mouth for a kiss. He lacked his friend’s restraint. He was hungry. He was needy. He was craving this kiss as though his life depended on it. Making no secret of his goal, he licked along Alex’s lower lip, demanding entry and gaining it instantly. His hands balled into Alex’s shirt. And there was a real possibility that Alex was tearing out Miles’ hair as they were attacking each other with the despair of two people who knew that time was running out.

What a familiar feeling that was.

Kissing.

Having to part.

The doorbell rang again.

“Fuck,” grumbled Alex, against Miles’ lips.

Miles ripped his mouth away from him. It was now or never. One last fleeting look and then he gripped his suitcase and all but sprinted off. “We did so well for so long,” he called over his shoulder, a helpless smile on his face, justifying this colossal clusterfuck not just to Alex but also to himself. “What’s one bad moment, right? What’s one more mistake?”

As he rounded the corner, he heard Alex shout after him, “Call me when you land!”

.

.

**Spoiler Part 12:**

#

“ I said,  _ don’t _ !  You were single ,” Alex  charged in , hard and decisive . “ And the rest is none of my business.”

“It was one time. ”  Miles had to say it. He couldn’t keep it inside any longer.  Like acid that entire episode sat in the pit of his stomach, poisoning everything in the vicinity , making it impossible to heal and move forward. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“ Fucking stop it!  You’re not supposed to be, Mi ! ”

“But I am!” 

“Then stop!” Alex snapped back.

#

“Promise me,”  wanted  Miles, “that you tell me the truth next time you call. Even if it’s just to hear my voice or whatever.  ‘cause that’s who we used to be! You know you can tell me that.  You and I never  make fun of each other  for being honest. We never judge  each other! I don’t give a shit if you think being open about something makes you cool or not. You tell me and I’ll have your back! ” 

Once upon a time, yes, they  had been those people.  Until being honest had backfired in ways he’d never  imagined . Once upon a time he’d seen no problem in admitting that he missed him.  Before sex, before kisses, before feelings, it had been an innocent  truth. These days, it was a death trap! What if he  told him that he longed for him at night? What if he told him that  he  wanted him? What if he told him he’d give it all for a second chance? What if Miles said  _ no _ ?

#


	12. What If...

**#Miles**

**#June**

**#Monday morning, around eleven a.m.**

“Do you need a new acoustic? Yes or no?”

Miles stood on stage in Madrid, sound-checking for his gig later that night. Next to him was one of the stagehands, fiddling with the cable of his electric. Behind him, the sound engineer tossed question after question in bad English, laced with a thick Spanish accent, making it hard to catch it all. In front of him, a bunch of photographers scurried around the arena, taking an abundance of pictures for pre-show online ads and press. Side-stage, his manager was typing away on her phone while mouthing some sort of information his way. He understood none of it. Surrounded by all that chaos, Miles removed the phone from his hear, brought it forward to give it a look, then held it back. “The fuck do you want right now?”

“Aaah-coooou-stic,” Alex said again, drawling the syllables, as though the word itself had been the issue and not the message.

Miles rolled his eyes.

“Technically,” Alex amended, “it’s not new. Although, I’ve barely played it. It’s a Gibson. I’m decluttering my life.”

_By cluttering mine?_

“You’re confusing me,” Miles let him know, squinting at the weird shit that Tina, his manager, mouthed. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Alex muscled in, irritated. “I’m aski—”

“Not you,” cut Miles off. “Hold on! Tina, not now!”

“Where are you?!”

“Stage.”

“You’re already on?”

Tina kept going.

“No,” he hissed, regretting it instantly. Sighing hard, Miles let his head fall back and he gazed helplessly into the sky. “Al, it’s a really bad time right now. Sorry, but I gotta—”

“Don’t hang up, this is important!”

“I’m _on stage_ ,” Miles repeated, adding weight to the words, hoping Alex would relent. “I’ll call back!”

“Mi, no! Wait!” He wasn’t asking but demanding. “I have to _insist_ that you hear me out!”

Forgotten were the people on stage, his manager, and whatnot. Eyes opened wide. He was focused on him, now. Dumbfounded at being ordered around. “Come again?”

Lowering the level, yet keeping the firmness of his tone, Alex explained. “Knowing my voice means being intentional. My words, my actions, and my thoughts affect my life and the outcome of it all.”

A pause. “Ooo-kaaaay?”

“I’m being intentional and that means when I want to tell you something you have to recognize that by listening to me. It’s unreasonable to assume I’m getting anywhere in life by not insisting on having my voice heard.”

Well, then. “If you want your voice heard, I suggest you put on an _Arctic Monkeys_ record, press play, and amp up the volume. Your neighbors are gonna love it,” snarked Miles, his patience falling from him in big chunks. People around him were getting restless, which, in return, made him cranky. “In the meantime, I’m hanging up now, ‘cause there are a bunch of people around me dying to hear _my_ voice and I’m getting paid to use it. Later, Al.” He shut the phone off, turned to Tina, and glowered. “Fucking speak up, will you!”

**#Monday, around one p.m.**

Miles checked the caller ID and winced when he picked up. “Shit, I was about to call back. Swear!”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Al, come on!”

“No, no, don’t bother. It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

_Angry?_

He bit back a snort. He’d been busy sound-checking, he’d had press, now lunch with his band. Barely two hours had passed since he’d hung up! They’d gone a year without talking. Alex could do a few fucking minutes!

Biting his tongue from saying any of that, Miles plucked a piece of carrot from his plate and stuffed it into his mouth.

Alex continued. “Besides, if I hold on to my bad emotions, I’ll only create _SuperStress_.”

The carrot got stuck in his windpipe. Miles coughed violently.

“You alright?” asked his friend.

“No.” Miles was blunt. “ _SuperStress_?”

“Yep.”

“Tell me you’re high. Or drunk. Both!” He hoped for both! “What the fuck is _SuperStress_?!”

Across the table, Victoria snickered.

“Stop it,” he mimed her way. “Al…are you…like…is everything alright? Are you still in London?”

“Yes,” Alex stated, sounding a bit too cheerful for Miles’ taste. Alex wasn’t the joyful kind of person. Yes, he could have fun. He _had_ fun. He enjoyed life and its perks. He laughed heartily if the situation called for it. But this demeanor? This perkiness that rang through the phone, which made the hairs on Miles’ neck stand straight – that shit worried him. “As I said, I’m decluttering. And since you hung up on me earlier, I tossed the Gibson into the trash. My decluttering couldn’t wait for your busy schedule.”

Now, the snort broke free. “I’m sorry for working. I’ll try not to do it anymore. Hold it, rewind! You trashed your Gibson? What Gibson?”

“The _J-45_. The scratched one I had in London.”

“ _Jellybean_?” His jaw hit the floor as he clutched his heart which stung with pain. “You tossed _Jellybean_ into the trash? Are you fucking nuts?” They’d started calling the guitar that name after he and Alex had gotten drunk a few years back and spent an entire afternoon singing the word ‘Jellybean’ in endless repetition while strumming what would eventually become the chords to _Dracula Teeth_. “What…why?” The poor guitar!

Alex sighed loudly. “De-cluuu-ter-iiiing,” he drummed through the phone. “How often do I need to say it?”

“Stop saying it and start explaining it,” Miles barked back. He was angry now. An innocent guitar had become the victim of a heinous crime!

“You didn’t want it!”

“Alex!”

“I’m reading a book.”

No good thing had ever come from that. “What book?”

A beat. “Won’t tell you. You’ll laugh at me.”

“So you know what’s gonna happen. What book?”

“Miles—”

“I’m _insisting_ ,” he pushed back. “With my _voice_.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Fucking spill!”

“Thelifechenenmethnftyd’np.”

“Speak English.”

“MARIE KONDO!”

Miles gasped as he tore the phone from his ear in shock. Not because Alex had screamed. No. Worse. He’d gotten into self-help! “Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself, still gawking at the device in his hand.

Victoria, watching him, grinned when prying, “What did he do?”

“Read a book.”

She scoffed. “That monster!”

He flipped her off. She returned the gesture. He then spun on his heels and headed for the outside, phone back at his ear. “Do I need to come back? Are you having some sort of existential crisis that I don’t know of? Should I be worried?”

“Roughly speaking, I have about fifty guitars. I can do with one less.”

Yeah, that wasn’t the part he was concerned about. “It’s the book, Al. Not the guitar.”

“It’s a _New York Times_ bestseller!”

“ _One Direction_ has a whole bunch of number one hits. That doesn’t make it good music!”

“I’m clearly repeating myself, but I am declu—”

“Say it one more time, I dare you!”

“I’m cleaning house!”

“Why?”

“’cause…reasons.”

He leaned against a wall, lit himself a cigarette, and dragged. After a moment of considering his next steps, Miles carefully traipsed ahead. “Al…when I left London last week…we didn’t really talk. And it got sorta weird at the end, you know? Should we— Look, let’s disregard the ending for now. But we went a whole year without talking. See, my life changed a lot but not really. I’m still me. Making music, eating vegetables, paying shitloads of money for boots, and anti-wrinkle cream…”

Laughter from Alex. “I’m still me, Mi.”

“Old Alex would have set that book on fire, not read it.”

“Old Alex was very judgy.”

“So, there _is_ an old Alex and a new Alex, then?”

“Well played, my friend,” acknowledged Alex. “Well played.”

“Al? Talk to me.”

After a moment of silence, the kind that foreshadowed a gathering storm, Alex cleared his throat, speaking with a calm timbre that brimmed with surrender. He didn’t want to be having this conversation right now, that much was obvious. He did it to appease Miles. “We were best friends for a decade, Mi. And in the blink of an eye, despite oaths to the opposite, we became lovers. How often did we promise to stay away from each other? How often did we fail? And when we finally did try to get back to being friends, we fucked it up so bloody good that we nearly ruined it forever. I had never imagined that I would go a year without you. But I did. So, yes. There’s an old Alex. A new Alex. A bunch of ‘em in between. There’s an Alex who was so bloody heartbroken after Berlin that he almost drowned in liquor. There’s an Alex who is embarrassed and mortified and ashamed in ways you can’t even conceive by the shit he’s done to Taylor that he’s yet to call her up and apologize for it. There’s an Alex who can’t look into the mirror and not miss the guy that used to stare back at him. There’s an Alex that has a girlfriend, one he doesn’t love, one he has to break up with, yet one he asked to come to London and go on a date with. There’s an Alex who’s your best friend and there’s an Alex who can’t stand your sight for all the shit that you’ve put me through. There’s an Alex that wants to be back on that tour bus at the end of the summer of 2016 and do it all over again. And there’s one that wishes he’d never laid his lips on you. I’m trying to figure out how to fit all of these guys into my new pair of boots. When I say I’m decluttering, I’m not just talking guitars and shabby old shit that I should have trashed a long time ago. I’m considering tossing out a few Turners as well.”

“Are you keeping the one that’s my best friend?” asked Miles, worried and taken aback by that onslaught of honesty that had swung his way out of nowhere.

“I’m kinda digging that one,” assured his mate, trying to make light of what had unpredictably become a heavy moment.

As grateful as Miles was that, he knew as well as Alex that they needed to take a hard and long look at their past and speak about most of that shit that had gone down. Otherwise, they could call it quits on their friendship then and there. They had resolved to repair it. It was time to start.

He took another drag from the cigarette to prepare himself. “What happened in Berlin—”

Alex cut him off, his voice a sharp warning. “Don’t! I don’t want to talk about it!”

Miles ignored it. It was a now or never moment. “I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known you were there and I get how awful that sounds and how it doesn’t excuse anything, okay? I know! It was wrong and bad—”

“I said, _don’t_! You were single,” Alex charged in, hard and decisive. “And the rest is none of my business.”

“It was one time.” Miles had to say it. He couldn’t keep it inside any longer. Like acid that entire episode sat in the pit of his stomach, poisoning everything in the vicinity, making it impossible to heal and move forward. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Fucking stop it! You’re not supposed to be, Mi!”

“But I am!”

“Then stop!” Alex snapped back. “You fucked a guy and I found out. Who fucking cares!”

“You _just_ said that you did!”

“You think I never had sex with _her_? She’s my fucking girlfriend. You were single, Mi. Thinking about it hurts. Remembering it hurts! I want to go back in time and never sat foot into that fucking hotel! I’m not allowed to feel the things I’m feeling. I see his fucking face walking out of that hotel room. That image won’t ever leave my head and it fucking kills me every time. Do you have any idea what goes on in my head? Huh? Really? Wanna know what I think even now, more than a fucking year later? That guy had his hands on you. His fingers ran over the skin that I can’t touch! His lips kissed the mouth that’s locked to me. He got to taste you, he got to feel you, to smell you, he got—I’m jealous, Miles. I _still_ am! And it scalds a whole into my gut!” His voice broke. “I hate him because he had you and I envy him for the same reason!”

“Stop!”

“I’m so fucking twisted,” confessed Alex, speaking in a quiet, breathless tone which was coated with shame, “that I want to know if he was a better fuck than I was. You don’t get to apologize for being single and doing nothing wrong. There’s plenty of shit you should apologize for. Not for this one. This one’s reserved for me.”

If he’d done nothing wrong, then why did he feel so fucking horrible because of it? Miles pressed his back against the brick wall behind him. The cigarette, by now, had died between his fingers. Nearby, people walked and chatted and smiled. And here he was, stuck on the phone talking to somebody he was dying to stand face to face with. He tossed the dead butt, wiped the hand over his face, and thought back to it.

**#September 2017**

**#Berlin**

_Four weeks. Miles stared at his phone screen, at the list of incoming texts, texts from Alex, and wondered if broken hearts had always hurt this fucking much or if, maybe, he was suffering from an actual heart condition that he should trust some professional with. Eyes pinched together, feeling somewhat stupid, he put his flat palm against his heart and took in what happened below. There was a heartbeat. Which, he noted with rolling eyes, was the expected thing. He was alive, after all. The beat was steady. That eliminated anything that required pacemakers, right? Another positive. It was a calm rhythm. No stress, then._

_His phone chimed._

_He quickly checked, any possible cardiac conditions forgotten. Damnit. Just some meme that Matt sent._

_Nothing from Alex._

_There was that pain again._

_What was he even doing, waiting for any texts? Alex was busy recording. They’d gotten into yet another argument. At this point, they were getting into fights by default, it appeared. His mind drew blanks trying to remember what they’d even quarreled about. He shouldn’t have any hopes of getting a single kind of life-sign from him._

_“You okay?”_

_Eyes raised, to glance at the bartender in front of him. “Huh?”_

_“You’re clutching your heart. You alright?”_

_A chuckle. “Yeah, just…never mind.” A quick scan of the bar revealed that he was the last one left. “What time is it?” He’d lost track of it. “Are you closing up?”_

_“No,” assured the guy, offering a sly smile when noting that, “besides, certain guests are always welcome, no matter the hour.”_

_Miles put his phone away, to give him the attention he was clearly gunning for. Here he was, sitting in one of the prime spots of a popular, up until some time ago very crowded bar and he’d scarcely ordered two drinks. A pang of guilt made its presence known. “Sorry for being such a cheap customer. Thanks for the compliment, though.”_

_“Don’t thank me. Have another drink with me.”_

_“That’s a tempting offer,” said Miles, “but…” But what? He was on the verge of saying he wasn’t single. That somebody was waiting for him. Or, rather, he was waiting for somebody. Which was a lie. A truth, somehow, but a lie, still. He was single. There was no one to whom he was beholden._

_He was single since last November. Alex was single since last January. Roughly nine months of missed opportunities and here he was, still by himself, hundreds of kilometers away from Alex, who was most likely busy finding ways to win over that long-legged model he’d met last month._

_“But what?” asked the bartender, leaning in, flirt that he was. “Coming up short with excuses, huh?”_

_Miles took a second glance at him. Or, rather, a first one. He was good-looking. A fact. He’d nice eyes. Blue. Anything but brown. And judging by his easy smile and his fast winks, this was a man who’d had a one-night stand or two and knew how to part without any messy aftermath._

_Eyes fell back to the phone. No new messages._

_“A drink, then,” Miles said, far from interested in returning the playful back and forth, yet resolved to battle his way through it. He had to. He couldn’t continue like this. He couldn’t waste night after night waiting for texts that would never arrive. He muted the device before shoving it into his pocket. His heart cramped for a second, but Miles disregarded it. Same as he did with the odd reaction inside his gut, that sickling feeling of having bitten into the wrong thing and being unable to stomach it. Offering a half-assed grin that the bartender must have considered genuine, Miles muscled forward. “Surprise me.”_

_“Will do.”_

**#Present Day**

“If I had known…” Miles swallowed hard, struggling to grasp the size of the opportunity he’d ruined that night. “I didn’t read your text until the next morning. I had no idea you were on your way.”

“Mi,” pleaded Alex urgently, “stop. We weren’t meant to be. Not then. Not—”

“We don’t know that,” he whispered, words thick with doubt, doubt that had stewed for so long, doubt that he could hide and snub on good days and doubt that crushed his bones on bad ones.

Alex nipped Miles’ allusion in the bud. “It doesn’t matter anymore. What’s done is done. We both feel bad and—” He’d rattled on, only to pause, to take a breath. And to continue quietly, assessing with audible sadness that, “we missed our chance.”

They had missed so many. Maybe they didn’t deserve any more. Maybe they’d messed it up too often. Maybe they were too dumb to spot others. But stuck on Miles’ mind were two words that he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.

_What if?_

Alex cleared his throat. “Maybe it was for the better, Mi. We still have a chance to save our friendship. We must focus on that! Listen. ‘bout Louise—”

Upon hearing her name, Miles blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “She asked me to follow her on Instagram.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” Alex complained.

“Your girlfriend asked me to follow…doesn’t matter what it means. I can’t do it ‘cause I’m afraid she’ll post images of you and her. Images that show that you’re happy with her. You think you’re twisted? How’s this? I’m sorry for being so much of an asshole that I can’t handle the idea that my best friend is happy. I’m sorry for rather not finding out how you’re doing than finding out you’re doing better with her than you ever did with me!”

“I’m—”

“No! Don’t you dare tell me what I want to hear!” Miles interrupted quickly. “I don’t deserve to know, one way or the other. It’s none of my fucking business.”

Alex tried again, with more force this time around. “I told you. I don’t love her!”

“Love doesn’t matter.” It didn’t matter one bit if he loved her or not. Because Miles had loved Alex back when it _had_ mattered, and he’d been miserable despite it.

Love mattered shit.

Silence washed over them. Was this the eye of the storm? Had it passed already or had it not even begun yet?

“Maybe,” said Alex after a while, moving on from the unfinished business of making amends, “it’s a good thing that you’re away. Not sure I’d have said any of that to your face.”

He could relate. “No, don’t think I would have, either.”

Alex let out a growl. “Berlin and Insta-whatever, check. Let’s work down that list of ours. What’s next?”

“Shall we go in chronological order,” questioned Miles, shaking his head at the absurdity of it, “or by the size of the carnage?”

“How ‘bout the number of witnesses,” suggested Alex, sounding dimly amused. “Remember the show in Scotland? When you almost hit me on stage? That’s a pick for pole position, right?”

It drew a chuckle from Miles. “You accused me of lying.”

“You _did_ lie.”

“If I had told you that I had come to Scotland for you, instead of the show, what difference would it have made? I came after I found out that you were in Berlin and had seen… It was a week after that—” Miles knew Alex couldn’t see, but he shrugged his shoulders anyway. “She was there. And by the time I got there, you were with her. I didn’t want to go third-wheel on you and…to be honest, I couldn’t stick around and watch you be in love. I left. For what it’s worth, I never intended to hit you.”

“You got in my face,” Alex told him, convinced, yet far from angry.

“To kiss you,” Miles disclosed. “To show you what I came for. To fix it.” He’d been on stage with the _Monkeys_ for a charity gig, playing _505_ , and somehow he’d ended up directly in front of Alex. The audience had vanished from his consciousness. As had all other band members. His eyes had fallen down, mesmerized by Alex’s lips, and for a split second, he’d entertained the notion of screwing all and everything and just going for him. “Until it occurred to me where I was and who stood at the side of the stage and, suddenly, I felt I was back on that tour bus, being shady and selfish, turning you into a cheater. I was too late. I behaved like an asshole—”

“You were never that,” protested Alex, sounding meek. It made Miles laugh. Even his friend, who always found ways to defend him and his actions, couldn’t deny that.

And Miles knew. Better than anyone. “I had you when you weren’t mine to have. I was all that, Alex. That and more. But it’s alright. I have to live with that. I learned my lesson. I won’t ever be that person again.”

“Not to say that I agree or disagree with you, but we did kiss last week.”

“Yes.” That part was undeniable. He’d exhausted an entire flight across Europe trying to make sense of it only to fail abysmally in his effort. He was neither proud nor happy about what had happened. But unlike all the other times that he’d screwed up, two years ago, this time he was able to see it for what it was. A single, isolated slip of judgment, one best to be forgotten. Yet, one to draw lessons from. Always, always keep your guard up. “We made a mistake. We know that. And we won’t do it again. It’s as you told me. We have a chance to save our friendship. And the rest is history.”

“Like you said,” Alex added in. “We were good for so long, we can handle one bad minute.”

“Exactly.”

“We could have easily handled a bad hour,” his friend chimed, rebellious fucker that he was.

“Alex!”

“I know, I know.” His tone betrayed his words, stealing them of their punch. “I’m in a relationship. Cheating is bad and I’m not doing that anymore. Friendship first. All that shit. Just sayin’. Forget it!”

Miles took a step to the side and sank down onto the bench. Made of dark wood, it was warm, almost uncomfortably so, from the heat of the sun, and he adjusted carefully until it became amenable. Sometimes he wondered if Alex deliberately dropped those lines to put Miles’ concerns at rest or if he genuinely believed it. Part of him was tempted to think Alex would have jumped at a chance of a bad hour, as he’d called it.

If there hadn’t been a car waiting that morning, if time had been in abundance, if the opportunity would have arisen, would Miles have given that chance a second glance? He’d like say _no_.

He really did.

It was just…sometimes, he craved him so damn much that it physically hurt. Sometimes, he longed for that love he’d felt in Alex’s arms that he’d never found anywhere else again. Sometimes…sometimes he simply missed him so badly that he could scarcely bear it.

Since then, it had become clearer to him that yes, they had done a good job at staying away from each other. But they had done that because they had been on the outs, torn apart by conflicting messages and feelings. Kept apart by distance, physical and emotional. Now, things were shaping up to change. With distance leaving the picture, it’d get harder to remain apart, undoubtedly.

Which was why he was, in part, grateful for the kiss and the lesson it entailed.

_Fucking always keep your guard up!_

“When does your gig start?”

Poked out of his thoughts, Miles checked the time. “’bout five hours.”

“Anything left to do?”

“A bit of press. Not much. Think I’ll take a quick nap, maybe a dip in the pool. ‘tis bloody hot here.” While speaking the words, sweat beaded on his forehead. “You? Any plans? Any more instruments to toss? I’m good with the guitars, but when you get to the Steinway, call me up. I’ll cancel the gig and pick it up right away.”

“There’s a tempting offer.”

Those casual and flippant remarks were what let Miles to suspicion. “Careful, you’re flattering me.”

“Shoot me a text before your set starts? Wanna watch.”

“Is it on tv?” He hadn’t known.

“Internet.”

Loud laughter. “Hear, hear! Somebody arrived in the twenty-first century!” It died down and became a lingering smile. “Will do. Remember, don’t declutter too much. Empty apartments make you antsy. And you need a certain number of Turners to fill those big boots of yours.”

“I’m rather large. A single Turner can fill a lot of boots by himself.”

Miles’ eyes did a full one-eighty, yet he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “You’re a hopeless case.”

“Enjoy your gig. Call me soon.”

“Will do.”

**#Thursday, _very early_ in the morning**

“Took you long enough to pick up the phone. I’m having an existential crisis. You were right all along. I’m no longer in London. I should be in Paris right now. But Louise is busy anyway – some modeling job gone wrong or whatever – and I figured I might as well drop by home. Pay my parents a visit, all that. Anyway, I’m here, I’m still decluttering my life, I tossed the Alex that was selfish and forgot to care for the people around him, and once I got rid of him, I decided to do something nice, clean out my closet, maybe donate some shit to goodwill or that kinda nonsense. Now, here’s where the crisis enters the scene, so, pay attention. Are you paying attention? Good. I’m here, in my room, standing in front of my closet and you know what’s not in here? My black motorcycle jacket! The one with the studs on the sleeve. I wore a lot during 2015. Remember? It was the perfect match to the black ankle boots with the silver buckle. You know which one I’m talking ‘bout, right? Just checking. Are you still there? You’re awfully quiet! It’s no longer here. It could be in Paris, but I called Louise and had her check and it’s not there, either. It’s definitely not in London since I just left and I know what’s in that closet! It ain’t in LA – called Matt, he checked, not there. And it’s not here, either. Which leaves us with only two possibilities. One, and I hope that’s the case, the jacket _accidentally_ found its way into your closet. I’m being generous here and I’m awarding you with the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it _fell_ into your bag or something and you didn’t realize. Maybe you _accidentally_ wore it once, it slipped your mind to tell me, and you _forgot_ to return it to me. Get it, Mi? Catch my drift? Yeah? ‘cause the other possibility is that somebody broke into my parents’ house and stole my jacket. And nobody noticed until now. Imagine that! Now what?”

Miles pulled the phone from between his ear and the pillow, which was marvelous and warm and as pillowy as a pillow could pillow, pinched his eyes into two small slits which allowed him to see bits and pieces but not enough to get blinded by the onsetting daylight and cut the call.

He hung up.

Closed his eyes.

Hugged the pillow tight.

And desperately tried to restart that wonderful dream that included his favorite dream-person, _M’lex_ , the faceless man with the body of a certain rock star and hands more talented than those of, well, _anybody_.

It rang again.

Miles rolled onto his back, flung the pillow across the room, and groaned.

It kept ringing. _Insistently._

“It’s motherfucking six-thirty on a Thursday morning here in Naples,” he roared with the blazing intensity of a raging wildfire after picking up, “which means it’s motherfucking fife-thirty in Sheffield. Why the bloody fucking hell are you standing in front of your closet right now, disturbing MY sleep?!”

“My train leaves in an hour,” said Alex casually, completely unperturbed by Miles’ outburst. “Then I have a flight to catch. I want to wear the black studded leather jacket.”

Miles ticked his jaw. “Let me get this straight. After you tossed out _selfish-Alex_ , you went to Sheffield, put on _asshole-Alex_ , and spent the morning not only waking up your girlfriend and your drummer, but also your best fucking friend to check on a fucking jacket that you haven’t worn in three fucking years?”

“When you say, ‘best fucking friend’,” Alex broached, taking his damn time getting the sentence out, relishing with perfidy the manner in which it rolled from his tongue, “there’s a _certain_ connotation to it that I’m not quite convinced you were aiming for. I’d suggest using the expression ‘fucking best friend.’ But,” piped the guy who was well on his way to losing said status, “use it carefully!”

The tip of his tongue pressed against the back of his upper canine tooth. A form of anger-management. It was that or biting his tongue and he didn’t feel like drawing blood just then! Alex could be so damn lucky that there was an _entire_ continent between them! Miles choked his voice into a quiet seethe. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Do that,” chirped Alex. “For detail’s sake, Matt is in LA. It’s evening, there. Not morning. And he’s staying at my place since his got water damage. Sleep well?”

“Not particularly, no.” He was honest. No reason to beat around the bush. “Some asshole woke me up.”

“You…got company?”

He took in a very measured, extremely controlled breath. And then he lost it. “YOU WOKE ME UP, ASSHOLE!”

“Oh, calm the fuck down, will you? You’re in piss poor mood this morning!”

Miles gave up.

It was futile.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, kicked the sheets further away, and let the early morning sun rays warm his body. It’d be another brutally hot day. The hope to escape most of it by sleeping in had been strong. Life was unfair. Fundamentally so. Time to accept it. “Call Taylor. You gave her the jacket.” He no longer yelled or even raged. Wasted energy.

Alex sounded stunned. “Why would I do that? Makes no sense to me.”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s because you forgot to get her something for Christmas. Jamie told me you used a white Sharpie, wrote ‘I Love You’ on the back, and put a red bow around it. That was two weeks before you broke up with her and told her you’d fallen out of love with her a long time ago.”

“Oh. Oooh, forgot ‘bout that one. Shit, I should really toss _asshole-Alex_ as well.”

“Wise idea,” Miles agreed. “And while at it, tossing I mean, dump the version that calls people before noon. Might save a few friendships.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Why are you really calling?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re awfully self-centered and I don’t mean that in a bad way. You can’t help yourself. You’ve always been that way. But even you don’t call people all over the world that early in the morning to ask about a bloody jacket that you couldn’t care less about. Otherwise you wouldn’t have given it away in the first place. Least of all to somebody you’ve admittedly fallen out of love with a long time ago. I’ve known you for almost fifteen years now. Usually, when you’re up this early, it’s still late at night for you. What’s going on? Are your parents alright? Did anything happen?”

“I lied,” Alex said quietly. “I was serious about giving away some shit. I texted Louise about the jacket yesterday. Matt, too. He _is_ staying at my place, though. That part is true. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. And I did forget about Taylor. Thanks for reminding me. I feel, deservedly, wretched.”

Miles scooted up, coming to rest against the headboard, growing concerned. “Al?”

“I was packing my shit. The train does leave in a bit. I found a picture of us. From years back. You and me, curled up on my couch, laughing. You’re kissing my cheek. You took it with your phone and printed it out. Remember any of that? Before you left the for London that week back then, you stored a Snickers bar in my cupboard by the fridge for your next visit and warned me not to eat it unless you wanted Jamie to see the picture. I called you Dr. No for being so evil.”

The memory pierced Miles like an arrow through the chest.

**#Alex**

**#2013, Los Angeles**

_“Do octopuses retire?” Alex stretched all limbs away from himself, taking full advantage of the size of the couch, which he now claimed for himself. Feet extended all the way to the opposite side. One arm hung over the edge of the seat, the other lay against the back. All appendixes seemed to agree on the message, which was simple: mine! Still wearing the sweatpants from earlier that day, when he’d been forced by Miles to work out with him, and which had ended up – not surprisingly – with Alex watching from a park bench as Miles ran his rounds and jumped his jacks. He elaborated on his philosophical question by raising his head, asking, “If they do, where do they go? And can I join ‘em? ‘cause I certainly feel like a retired octopus.”_

_Muffled chuckles echoed from the kitchen’s direction. He could see from the couch that Miles’ head was buried deep inside the refrigerator. “You sure look retired. How many steps did you walk today? Five?”_

_A single finger raised off the couch, to take a stand for the rest of the tired body. The middle finger. It didn’t last very long. He was that lazy. “I’m sooooooooo incredibly bored that I’m too fucking tired to get up and do something ‘bout it. I’m hungry, I’m thirsty…” A sigh dragged itself across the floor, toward Miles. “Miles?” No reaction. Alex tried again, sweeter this time. “Miiiiiiiiiilesy?”_

_It was Miles’ turn to flip him off._

_“You don’t even know what I want.”_

_“You want something,” Miles concluded. “And the answer is no. I’m lazy, too.” The fridge door slammed shut. A cupboard got opened. There was rustling._

_“A beer’s not too much to ask, is it?” Glancing at the direction of all that noise through half-opened eyes, Alex’s mouth watered. “Where’d you find the chocolate bar?” There had been a chocolate bar inside this house, his house, and he hadn’t known about it?_

_“Back behind the coffee filters. Hid it there a while ago.”_

_“You hide chocolate in MY house?”_

_“I have to!” Miles made his way back into the living room and came to a halt in front of the couch, from which Alex looked up with a shrug._

_“Want something?”_

_“Yes. Make some room. You’ve taken over the whole thing.”_

_“Half the couch,” peddled Alex, “for half the chocolate.”_

_“Or,” grinned Miles, evidently finding the offer to be too high, “I’ll just steal half.” An arm shot out toward the back for support. “Watch out.” One leg pulled up, he wedged his foot between Alex’s side and the back, then built momentum, only to drop clumsily inside the space his insistent foot had freed. Miles groaned._

_Alex grunted. “It’s too fucking small for two people! I’m not your blow-up doll. You can’t let the air out once you need the space!”_

_“Make some room, then!” He shoved the chocolate bar into Alex’s hands. “Hold it, don’t eat it! Let me just—” There was squirming and wiggling until, eventually, Miles settled in. Rolling to his side, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder, he filched the bar back from him before Alex could stop him, and began to munch. “Oh, this is good!”_

_“Downgraded from blow-up doll to snuggle-pillow. Perfect.”_

_Laughter from Miles. Then a curse. “Oh, don’t move. Chocolate landed on your shirt!”_

_“What, where?” Alex moved._

_Miles pushed him back down. “I said, don’t move!”_

_“Ugh, Mi, this is_ Zegna _!”_

_“And it’s got big, fat stain on the front, which,” Miles drawled, showing no signs of remorse, “I will boldly presume was not part of the original design! Keep calm. There.” He picked the flake off. “Gone. From blow-up doll to snuggle-pillow would generally be considered an upgrade, by the way.”_

_“Blow-up dolls have sex.”_

_“Get a girlfriend!”_

_“Too time-consuming. Gimme that!” He grabbed Miles’ hand with the chocolate bar. A quick power-struggle ensued. He wrestled hard and dirty against the backdrop of Miles’ huffs of protest and defiant shoves until he’d squeezed the hand into surrender, bringing it up to his mouth, and taking a big bite off the chocolate. “Waf fad weally fo fawd?”_

_A snicker from Miles, who’d recovered fast from his battleground loss. He had his head propped up while his crinkling eyes looked down on him, bloody amused by it all. “You tell me.” The free hand went to Alex’s chest and a finger circled over the fabric, catapulting Alex’s sleepy senses to high alert. “The stain got company, now.”_

_“Fuck!”_

_As Miles'_ _finger trailed on and on, not concerning itself with personal boundaries or platonic friendship behavior, Alex took in their positions. While he’d been reveling in the undivided space of his couch earlier, he was now pressed into it, covered from shoulder to toe with a heavy rock musician who was eating his chocolate and not serving Alex’s needs. Compared to each and every friendship he had with other people, the one he had with Miles was strange beyond the most outrageous definitions. “What is this? Sundays with Milex?”_

_“You gotta stay off the internet,” snorted Miles. After he’d made quick work of the remaining chocolate bar, he now sank his head down and nestled into the crook of Alex’s shoulder as though it was the most normal thing in the world for two mates to curl up on the couch together. Without so much as fucking blinking an eye, he carried on – without a care of this cuddle they were in. “Online-stuff – that’s not good for you. Matt told me you wanted to reply to some guy who trashed_ Suck It And See’s _track order.”_

_“So?” Alex shrugged. The guy, who went by the name_ musicalgenius101 _, a name that begged for pushback and invited, if anything, the ire of others, had left a long post about the flaws in the track order on their website’s message board. By arguing that Alex’s arrogance had won over wiser arrangements making – a call that anonymous wannabe-critic was in no position to make – he’d not only brought Alex’s undiluted indignation upon himself, he’d practically challenged him in public. “I wanted to engage in a fact-based discussion and hear him make his case.”_

_“On the internet,” Miles summarized, dragging out the vowels as he did. “Suuuure.”_

_Alex shifted, to glare at him. “Yes. There.”_

_“For once in your life, take somebody’s word for it. You never win an argument online.” Giving Alex’s shoulder a gentle dab, he knitted his brows in protest. “Lay back down. Just gettin’ comfortable!”_

_With rolling eyes, Alex did. Barely adjusted to this altered position, he immediately jolted out of it again when Miles pressed his nose into Alex’s skin, breathing in. “Mi!”_

_“You smell like vanilla. Why?”_

_“‘cause I ate pudding earlier,” he groveled in return. He’d had girlfriends who had been less touchy than this Brit was! “How do you think the stain got there? Stop sniffing me!” To his own complete and utter amazement – or, rather, shock – Alex discovered that he’d begun running his fingers up and down Miles’ upper arm for reasons that lacked all understanding. He couldn’t say for how long he’d been doing it, or why Miles hadn’t told him to cut it out, but now that he noticed, he stopped it immediately. Shifting, trying to withdraw his arm, he was roadblocked by Miles, who grasped the hand that had done the very bad thing._

_“Nah-uh, don’t pull away! Why’d you stop? ’tis nice.”_

_Nice? It was insane! What the hell kind of twilight zone had they landed in? “You’re my mate, not some bird!”_

_“You don’t have a bird,” countered Miles, as though that, somehow, made it okay. “Imagine I’m her. A new one. Sexy. Tall. Dark hair. Endless legs. A bit on the male side. Hairy arms and all. Do the fingers again. Come on. Be nice to me.”_

_“You’re kidding, right?” He had to be. His brows furrowed. “We’re friends!”_

_“Hey,” protested Miles abruptly, “between the two of us, I’m not the one who asked for a kiss!”_

_“Low blow,” shot Alex back. He shoved him onto his back, rolled to his side, and pinned Miles into the couch with a look so sharp and so full of scorn that he wondered if actual steam was escaping his ears. “I. Was. Sleeping!” Each word came out pronounced, one at a time. “I thought you were somebody else. You kissed my nose!”_

_“I was drunk. I was aiming for the lips.”_

_“Miles!”_

_“Oh, come on,” his friend lamented. “Doesn’t mean anything! I’ve fallen asleep in your arms a dozen times. It’s what friends do. You fucking fall asleep in mine, too. We love each other. We’re best mates. Trust me,” interjected Miles, lips quirking up, “the second you start blowing me, I’ll be the first to consider toning it down a notch. Afterward. ‘cause, who knows, maybe you’re good at it…”_

_Alex hit his chest. Hard._

_“I don’t want to fuck you,” retorted Miles, clearly annoyed. The small vein on the side of his forehead had become visible. It only ever did that when Alex said something that Miles considered stupid. “You’re not that sexy. Especially not in a dirty shirt. I can’t believe we’re having this discussion!” He was done with it, too. Before Alex could react, Miles had both arms wrapped around him, pulling him down. “Cuddle up. And do the fingers. I’ll do ‘em too. It really does feel nice. You have to! I’m single, too. I’m a very affectionate person. I need attention. You’re all I got. Besides, it’s only weird if you make it weird. Want me to prove to you that I do_ not _have the hots for you?”_

_“Fuck. You.” Yanking his arm free, he flung it over Miles’ and began running his fingers up and down his arm. It was a move done out of stubbornness and it was far removed from the loving gesture it ought to be and instead resembled some sort of punishment more than anything._

_Miles didn’t care. He kept him squashed against his chest. He, too, could be obstinate if he wanted to be. After a moment or two, however, Miles blew out a heavy breath. A sign of deep frustration. “Wanna snog?”_

_Damn him. Alex succumbed to laughter, sputtering chuckles into Miles’ shirt. Maybe it happened subconsciously, or maybe he did it on purpose – Alex refused to pay any thought to it – but as that crazy agitation inside of him vanished between laughs, the touch of his fingers got gentler. No longer using pressure, the tips of his digits circled over the warm skin of his best mate, just grazing, nothing more. The strangest sense of satisfaction overcame him as Miles’ soft mewls of delight filled the air. No longer fighting him, Alex settled in. Got cozy. “I swear, the other day, Jamie was giving us some kind of look.”_

_“What look?” His eyes had drifted shut and the words escaping Miles’ lips were so breathy and weak, one could barely make ‘em out._

_“The ‘what the fuck am I looking at’-look.”_

_“Well,” Miles kept asking, “what was he looking at?” As he spoke, his hand, resting casually against Alex’s back, began trailing around in languid strokes. A peculiar experience. It spread warmth everywhere. Kind of comforting. Nice._

_“At the club last Friday. You were ordering and I was telling you what I wanted but you couldn’t hear me.”_

_“Oh,” nodded his friend, flashing a smirk. “You mean when you rammed your claws into my cheek and nearly tore my head off?”_

_“When I carefully – by use of my hand – made you turn my way,” Alex revised. Despite himself, even startled by it, his eyes fluttered when Miles’ palm rubbed over the small of his back. “Fuck, this does feel great!” He sank deeper into his arms, relaxing his body as it melted against Miles’. “Why are you so hot?”_

_“I was born hot.”_

_Eye-rolling. “You were not. I saw the pictures. You were a scrawny teen with bad hair and no style. Lucky for you, your hair improved.”_

_“Yours didn’t,” dished Miles back. His head drooped to the side, lips landed against Alex’s forehead, and he kissed it._

_Alex stirred. “Why’d you do that?”_

_He felt him shrug. “Reflex.”_

_A snort._

_“I’d be less hot,” Miles amended, “if there weren’t a hundred kilograms of British rock on top of me. You’re the most talented heating blanket in existence.”_

_“Seventy-one kilograms. All muscle and bone.”_

_“Tsk. Liar. Half of that is hair gel. You changed it, by the way.” He sniffed at his hair. “’s got a touch of something…don’t know…” He repeated the motion. “Lavender?”_

_“The brand I used to buy shut down.”_

_Miles’ head jumped up. Outrage sprung to his face. “How is that possible? You’re trying to tell me they couldn’t survive on your orders alone?”_

_Alex brought his hand to Miles’ face, splayed his fingers over his features, and carefully pressed down while ignoring the puffs of air crashing against his palm, which his friend was chuckling out. “Lay back,” he demanded, vaguely noting that for somebody who’d mocked this very contact mere minutes ago, he was awfully into it now. How had that happened, Alex liked to know. “You’re disrupting this very relaxing moment.” Miles sank back into the couch. “Haven’t settled on a new brand yet. It’s sort of tough. Finding the right texture, the right scent…”_

_“Quit this one,” begged Miles. “Lavender isn’t yours. Try and find something that’s more you. How ‘bout something fruity, or tropical?” The corners of his mouth lifted. “Something you wanna put a straw in.”_

_At that, Alex laughed, struck by the dirtiest thought. “You’re telling me you wanna put your straw in me?”_

_“Look who’s making naughty jokes, all of sudden!” A devious glint made it to Miles’ eyes and he wiggled his brows suggestively. “What if I do?”_

_Once again, Alex hit him. Then jolted upright. “Where’s my notebook?”_

_“Who’s disrupting this moment now?” Miles grunted, making his protest heard, as Alex shimmied out of his spot. “God, can’t you ever just rest? It’s like you got a battery in your ass or something!”_

_“Stop fantasizing about my ass,” tossed Alex back. He found the notebook and returned to the couch, snapping it open and flipping through it for an empty page. “Lay still!” He found one and used his friend for a desk. “Still, Mi. Need to write this down.”_

_“Suuure,” said Miles, prolonging the word with a spritz of sarcasm. “Use me, why don’t you? What’cha have to write down right now anyway?”_

_“The straw-thing. …something tropical…” Teeth sank down into his lips as Alex tried recalling the exact line Miles had popped. “Might make a good lyric one day. What else you got? Before I put it away.” The pencil twirled between his fingers as Alex waited with anticipation. “Inspire me!”_

_“I don’t wanna inspire you right now,” groused Miles, tugging the notebook away and tossing it off the couch despite Alex’s glowered complaint. “It’s a crisp eve. Pull me in and hold me. Or get me a beer. I got used to you. Kinda nice to have you on top of me, keepin’ me warm.”_

_“But you’d freeze for a beer?”_

_“You can warm me up after you get me a beer. I’m flexible like that.”_

_“You want a beer, you get it yourself,” declared Alex. “You didn’t get one for me, either. So? What’s it gonna be – a cuddle or something cold?”_

_Miles sputtered a laugh. “I’ll pay you to repeat that line in front of Jamie!”_

_Alex turned his head away, nose drawn up. “No beer and no cuddle, then.”_

_Arms darted out. They slipped around Alex’s body and held him back. With a rumble, Miles caved. “Cuddle now, and I’ll get both of us a beer afterward. But you get us pizza.”_

_“Deal.” However, Alex made it clear – to himself – that he didn’t agree to more physical contact because he wanted more of that. He only did it because it was sort of chilly. And he was barefoot, wearing just sweats and a tee. There was no blanket in reach. The only road towards warmth that didn’t include a bit of snuggling with his friend was to get up, grab socks and a sweater, and…well, Miles was kinda here. And available. It didn’t mean anything. He made a move to resume his position._

_Miles stopped him. “Let’s spoon.”_

_“‘cause nothing says platonic friendship than having your dick press into my ass,” grunted Alex._

_“With two pairs of pants between us, I really don’t see the issue. The alternative is to have ‘em rub against one another.”_

_“That didn’t happen before!”_

_“Wanna?”_

_His elbow was getting sore from smacking him all the time. How was it that here, Alex was, keeping an eye out for their friendship, taking into consideration that some actions were simply not suitable for two platonic friends to do, and there, Miles was, not caring for any of that? If anything, Miles was fucking amused by it all. As evidenced by his current laughter…_

_The husky sounds of it hit Alex unprepared. All that talk about dicks had the expected result. That sleepy fucker inside his trunks suddenly perked to life and got curious ‘bout all that commotion. Down, boy. Fast! he warned it. “Time’s ticking.” With a huff, he sank into the couch. “Let’s get this over with.”_

_“Oh, babe, I love your romantic side! Come on, let’s take a selfie! To remember this moment forever!”_

_“Snap that picture and lose the hand,” warned Alex, shelling warning shots Miles’ way. His friend was already busy digging for his phone. “I’m fucking telling you!”_

_“You make it sound as if that should scare me.” Clearly and to Alex’s dismay, it didn’t. He prepared to bolt._

_Miles held him back, kissed his cheek, and pressed the button. He gave his face another kiss, making a dramatic rendering of it, sound and all._

_Despite himself, a chuckle escaped. Alex dropped into the couch, closed his eyes, and sighed heavily to cover it up. “Go fuck yourself.”_

_“Love ya, too!”_

**#Present Day**

Alex stepped away from the closet, shut the doors, and sat down on the foot of his bed, staring at the picture in his hands. “2013. Feels like a bloody lifetime ago. I didn’t mean to lie, it’s just…what was I supposed to say? That a bloody old picture dropped into my hands and looking at it nearly took my legs out? Not exactly something that _cool-Alex_ wants advertised. But it hit me that you and I are no longer those friends and—”

“We are,” Miles fired back in an instant.

“We’re not. And you’re fucking fooling yourself if you think we are! _2013-us_ would have shit their pants from laughter if somebody had told ‘em _2018-us_ went that year in silence!”

“Forget the last year, then! Focus on right now. We’re talking, we’re trying to fix us, we’re getting’ somewhere, aren’t we?” Desperation made his voice rise. “Promise me something?”

“What?” He sounded petulant. He knew. He didn’t care.

“Promise me,” wanted Miles, “that you tell me the truth next time you call. Even if it’s just to hear my voice or whatever. ‘cause that’s who we used to be! You know you can tell me that. You and I never make fun of each other for being honest. We never judge each other! I don’t give a shit if you think being open about something makes you cool or not. You tell me and I’ll have your back!”

Once upon a time, yes, they had been those people. Until being honest had backfired in ways he’d never imagined. Once upon a time, he’d seen no problem in admitting that he missed him. Before sex, before kisses, before feelings, it had been an innocent truth. These days, it was a death trap! What if he told him that he longed for him at night? What if he told him that he wanted him? What if he told him he’d give it all for a second chance? What if Miles said _no_?

He was scared to death to confess to the big shit. Honestly, Miles should consider himself fortunate that Alex went as far as dropping bits and pieces of the little truths into his calls. So, yes, sometimes he made up great, elaborate stories to hide a single, simple message. But wrapping a small acknowledgment into a fancy tale helped him get the words out. It made it easier.

It wasn’t 2013 anymore.

It wasn’t 2016 anymore.

It was 2019 and their friendship had narrowly escaped death.

“I think we have to work our way up to that, to being brutally honest and all that. I’m not trying to hide anything from you. I’m figuring out how to let you know, I guess.”

“But you promise to keep figuring that out? You’re not giving up? All that housecleaning that you’re doing, you’re not going to toss us out, will you?”

No, absolutely not. How could he even think so? “I’m the one who reached out to you!” He didn’t mean to imply that Miles had _not_ reached out. It was his warped way of saying that he had no intention of ever giving up.

“I know that,” assured Miles. “It’s that…I want back what we used to have. I don’t want us to settle for anything less.”

His heart did a mighty jump inside his chest. How good it was to hear that he, too, was prepared to fight. “I promise.” Eyes landed on the clock. “I have to…my train…”

“Okay. Are you staying in London once you get there?”

“Headed for Paris. It’s the big clean-up tour of 2019.”

“Which version of you will you lose along the road?”

“I’m rather desperate to toss _scared-Alex_.”

“Good luck.”

.

.

**Spoiler Part 13:**

#

Miles  cackled .  “A small guitar. Black and  grey .  Like contours and such.  Looks kinda cool.”

“Picture.”

“Alex!”

“You sent me a selfie with the piercing!” 

“It’s on my hip! Not gonna send you a dick pic!”

It was  _ that _ low? Squeezing his eyes shut, using up every single blood-supplied brain cell he’d left to render the mental image of  a  naked Miles inside his head, Alex  sank his teeth into his lower lip and  choked down that  moan that was desperate to escape! 

He’d also like a dick pic.

_ Jealous-Alex _ used the absence of supervision and  piped in , “Did  you have it in Berlin?”

_ Oh no! _

_ FUCKING THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK! The voice inside his head screa _ _ med _ _ from the top  _ _ of  _ _ its lung _ _ s _ _.  _

#

“If you want a make-over, I’d suggest copper. You don’t  have the personality to  pull blond off .”

“What?!”  Alex huffed with indignation. “Here’s something that a lot of people seem to forget these days.  I’m a bloody fucking rock star! I ooze confidence. I command entire arenas and audiences of tens of thousands! If I want to be blond, I will be blond. And I will excel at being blond!”

“ We’re wearing  _ cocky-Alex _ this morning …”

Alex  felt magnanimous enough to ignore that. “You usually date people with dark hair. Suki was blond, but it’s been a while since that’s over. What’s your outlook on it, now?”

“I’m not kidding, Alex. Are. You. Drunk?”

#


	13. Ghost Of Our Past

**#Alex**

**#Paris, a week later**

He hated breaking up. It was always such a mess. Blood splatters stained the wall, death and decay befouled the air, and the corpses piled up on the fine marble tiles of his foyer. Alex sat on the steps of his Paris house. The stairway was sleek and light, walls white, and it was cool there. The high ceilings of his sprawling entrance had never been kissed by sunlight before, thanks to his main door facing the north side of the world. The almost chilling temperature was a nice reprieve from the searing heat outside. Or the fires of hell that raged upstairs. With an excessive sigh, he flipped the page of his book, rested his cheek back into his palm, and read on. 

He’d gone his entire life making fun of self-help books and while the mere idea of folding his socks and arranging his underwear into neat little bundles befuddled the shit out of him, he’d been surprised to find that this dome of a _how-to_ offered plenty of suggestions that he regarded inspiring. Where the author advised to empty purses every day, he saw the greater picture. The sheer sum of things that happened to him daily was startling. Calls, requests, demands, personal favors, errands he wanted to run, people that expected him to return messages – the list was endless. 

He’d decided to clean his purse. Or, rather, his house. 

_Asshole-Alex_ , prematurely tossed en route from Sheffield to London last week, had been swiftly recollected. He now lived in a tiny little one-bedroom in the far and dark parts of his inner self, only to be released from his quiet corner of the body if exigent circumstances called for it. 

His job was to man the main door once the waiting line got rowdy. He’d had his first gig this morning. Louise had informed him that she’d planned on throwing a party and he’d told her that he didn’t want to come. She’d told him the party would take place at their house. He’d quickly clarified that there was no such thing. There were _his_ house and _her_ side of the bed, but nothing in between. An argument had ensued. And while _nice-Alex_ , _boyfriend-Alex_ , and _no-care-for-drama-Alex_ had retreated to the pool, waiting for the commotion to die down, _asshole-Alex_ had taken up the torch, assessed the situation, and simply burned the sprawling, picturesque mansion down. 

“Maybe we should split up,” he’d suggested, albeit the casual tone of his life-altering proposition not being lost on him. It had made him cringe, quite honestly. Sometimes, even he was disconcerted by his indifference to people’s feelings. He really was an asshole! “There’s no love lost between us. Be honest, Lou. Give it a real thought and tell me why you’re with me. I don’t know.” This had been no crack from his side to make light of it or make a mockery out of their separation. His perplexity had been authentic. And he’d wished for a candid answer. “I’m the worst boyfriend ever. I can say that with confidence. I’ve got the exes to prove it.” 

“ _You_ pursued _me_ ,” she’d then recalled, as though fond memories might make him change his mind. Her words had been weak and they had lacked any sort of blow – a far cry from the temper he’d half-expected. His nonchalance had met her unprepared, he’d been able to tell. And he’d seen that she struggled with it. “You wanted me,” she’d gone on. “You were funny and charming – you were that for a whole fucking year. What changed in the last few weeks?” Where his lack of any serious emotions made him cold and detached, her open sorrow at the rapid demise of their entanglement made him regret ever starting anything with her. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed the good moments – he had – but because there was yet another person ending up hurt because he couldn’t get his shit together. 

Damnit. She really _did_ like him, he realized. What had changed? His priorities. His life. His managerial system. Certain people had returned. There was only so much space his life had to offer, and he was in the midst of some serious reorganizing. “Everything and nothing,” he had replied, well aware what shitty kind of answer it was. For the next hour, there had been some spirited back and forth. Some accusations, some of this, some of that. Until, at about an hour ago, she’d told him she’d pack up and leave. Roughly fifty-five minutes ago, the first corpse had hit the ground. Or breezed there, more accurately. 

His favorite denim shirt, dancing in twirling motions when it had sailed from the first story to the bottom to land without much noise. He’d glanced there, nodded, and had gone to grab the book. Clearly, this was going to take a while. 

“Why don’t you tell that bitch that you’re cheating on me with that my side of the bed is still warm, in case she wants to move in.” 

Alex closed the book, pulled out his phone, and typed. ‘ _Still got that vinyl of_ The Kinks _? The live recording?’_

A moment later, Miles’ reply arrived. _‘Think so. What happened to yours?’_

He glanced at the broken record sitting between two torn shirts and a bunch of shredded images. Finger hovered over the letters. Uh… ‘ _Lost mine.’_

_‘It’s in London. Where are you?’_

_‘Paris,’_ typed Alex. _‘You?’_

_‘Nice.’_

_‘Hey, look at that! We’re in the same country!’_ He wished he were in Nice, too. Sitting by the beach, sipping a strong cocktail, staring at Miles’ ass which would be covered by wet and clingy swim trunks… 

“Is it Taylor? Are you back with her?” 

Alex heaved his exhausted gaze up the stairs, toward the top, where she stood, suitcase in hand. “’scuse me?” 

“Taylor,” snarled Louise. “She’s back, isn’t she? I always knew she’d return one day. Whatever. Let her sleep inside the sheets we fucked in. That little—” 

“You should go,” he recommended, making it clear in those three words that he wasn’t in the mood for discussions. Besides, he had foyers to clean up and new sheets to buy. “I’m sorry for how it ended. I truly mean that. You deserved better and nobody knows that more than I do. But let’s not drag this out any further, alright? Goodbye.” 

“Asshole.” 

Yep. 

That he was. 

His phone vibrated. 

_‘What’cha doing now?’_

_‘Decluttering,’_ returned Alex. _‘_ Asshole-Alex _got rehired. Three others are homeless, now. Gotta go, text later. Enjoy the beach!’_

**#Later that day**

“Hi.” 

A long and tense silence filled his ears after he said those two letters out loud. Lounging outside, watching the sun as it disappeared beyond the horizon, Alex settled comfortably by the pool, kicked his boots off, and waited. 

“You got some guts to call,” Taylor spoke after a terse minute. 

“I’m calling to apologize,” he explained. He expected her to hang up any second. That, however, didn’t make him rush his words. Instead, it made him pick his words with more precaution. Like playing _Minesweeper_ , carefully collecting clues ‘bout where it was safe to traipse. “I really want to. And you more than deserve one. Just not sure how or where to start.” 

“Start by being honest. How long were you and Miles fucking behind my back?” 

The sunset became irrelevant as soon as her words landed. “You know?” It stunned him. She hadn’t mentioned a word when they’d split. 

“There are rumors. You and him, at the end of the tour, hotels, all that. _People_ believe they are rumors. _I_ know you and Miles. I’ve seen you together. Makes so much sense, now. Everything.” 

His head rolled back. A groan escaped him. Yes, he’d intended to tell her. Efforts at being honest and all that overrated nonsense! He hadn’t expected to be the one hit by it. “Tay—” 

“Before you get into it, steamrolling me with your fancy words and prearranged explanations, know this: I fucking hate you for what you’ve done to me. But I bloody despise you for being so fucking much of a wimp that you couldn’t even break up with me before fucking him! You’re a sordid asshole! You’re a bloody fucking loser, Alex Turner, it escapes my mind how I ever fell for you in the first place…” 

**#Two hours later**

_‘Just a head’s up: There was a riot, today. A few Turners had to be admitted to the hospital._ Apologizing-Alex _took one for the team and we might have lost him for good.’_

A minute later, a sound file arrived. He clicked on it, curious as always, and the upbeat message of _Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off_ filled the kitchen in which he sat. Alex chuckled. Pressing pause, he hit dial. 

“What happened?” asked Miles the moment he picked up. “Are you alright?” 

For the first time all day, he was met with a friendly, concerned tone. It brought a tiny smile to his face. “Called Taylor.” 

“Oooh. Not good, huh?” 

“No.” He took a sip from his beer. “Did you know that she knew ‘bout us? I mean, we weren’t exactly subtle towards the end.” 

“We were never subtle,” Miles pointed out, snickering. “We were _not_ subtle even when there was nothing to be subtle about! You fucking kissed me centerstage at Coachella!” 

Alex pulled the bottle from his mouth to correct him. “A little peck.” Eyes narrowed. “I think – I _hope_ – I demonstrated to you that there’s a fundamental difference between a bit of a smooch and a real kiss ‘cause if I didn’t…” He brought the bottle back to his lips and this time around he took a large swig. “I mean, then I might as well take _confident-Alex_ off life-support right now. Poor fella is struggling hard.” 

Miles expressed his sympathies. “Aw, no. Shall I send him chocolate? Would he like that?” 

“He’d prefer whiskey.” 

“Expect it, then.” His friend’s amused tone became somber after a brief pause. “Did she tell you how she found out? ‘cause…um…” He cleared his throat. “When I broke up with Hannah, I told her why and what you and I had done. You and I…we didn’t talk much after that time, though. I should have warned you. I should have let you know. Hannah and Taylor were friends. Maybe—” 

Alex put his concerns at rest. “It doesn’t matter how she found out. She said she heard rumors, Mi. Who cares who started ‘em. That doesn’t take away from what I’ve done. Know what popped out to me when I called her? She hates me a lot, but she doesn’t hate me because you and I were having sex. That’s just…like, an extra.” It made him snort. “She hates me for a whole lot of other shit that has nothing to do with you. And when that sank in, it…it knocked me out for a minute.” He thought about her words, still stumbling through the accusations in his head, sorting ‘em out. “I was self-centered. I never considered what my actions would do to her. Not _consider_ , no. That’s the wrong word. I… For those few weeks at the end of the summer, there was only you and me and nothing else mattered. I still can’t bring myself to regret any of it, Mi. What does that say about me? I hurt a person and I’d do it again just to—” 

“Don’t!” warned Miles. 

His refusal to hear him out wound him up. “You don’t know what I was about to say!” 

“And it’s better that way,” cut Miles in, unyielding in his conviction. “Some stuff, I don’t want to know. We’re different people now. You say that you’d do it again, but would you really?” After a pause, his tone became less hostile. “You called Taylor and apologized. That’s a big step for you. You’re not a bad person, Alex. You’re good. You’re kind and loving and funny and sweet and generous and caring. Stop telling yourself you’re bad. All that housecleaning that you’re doing, ‘m not sure it’s a good idea. You take those sides of you and give ‘em neat names and we smirk over it, but _asshole-Alex_ , and _selfish-Alex_ , and _confident-Alex_ , and every other Alex – they all make up the _one_ Alex Turner that I love so much and who, despite everything, is still my best mate! The guy I can’t do without. You’ve always done that. You stuff something into a box, give it a sleek label, and separate it from yourself. Life’s not a pile of boxes, though. It’s chaotic and messy and _everything_ , not just bits and pieces. And you don’t do it right if you don’t do all of it.” 

As nice as it was to hear him say it, it didn’t change that for the last two and a half years Miles had strived just fine doing exactly what he’d accused him of. “You did do without me, Mi! You’re the one who stuffed me into a box and never bothered to look into it again. You shoved me away and forgot about me!”

“I did not,” his friend shot back, offended and angry. “I fucking missed you! Every single day. I had countless conversations with you inside my head! I planned apologies. I laid out words that I would use. I looked up your name on my phone a million times.”

“But you _never_ called!” 

“A big fat spider crawled along my wall a while ago. The tarantula type! It took me fifteen minutes, two boots, a rare edition of a magazine which featured one of my favorite _Beatles_ interviews, and an entire can of _SpiderEx_ to kill that monster, and as that thing and I were having it out, fighting for our lives, I broke the _Alex-_ gummy-bear lamp. I wanted to call you, to fill you in on my struggle for survival, and ask you to come by and commiserate with me over its death. But I couldn’t, because we weren’t talking! I sat on my couch that night, staring at the dead lamp, and wishing I was brave enough to call you up. That whole year that we didn’t talk, I thought about you every single day. You said you only seem confident. So do I! I _wanted_ to reach out. I _wanted_ to drop by. I was fucking scared you didn’t want to see or hear from me!” 

Alex’s anger deflated and his voice shrank. “You were?” His mind wandered back to the last moments before it had all fallen apart, but recalling the details wasn’t possible. It was blurry, now. An intricate painting shielded into obscurity by milky glass. “Why did we stop talking?” he wondered quietly. “I know that we fought that night. And we – well, I guess, mostly I – said some shit that—” 

“Hurt like hell,” confessed Miles, unlike Alex, recalling even the finest points. “You said some really tough shit to me that night.” There was not a single sliver of accusation in his tone, not even a note of irritation. Just raw pain. “You forgot?” 

“I remember your party.” There were bits and pieces. “Your birthday party.” 

“A year ago, yes.” 

“We were pretty drunk.” He recalled the hangover from the next day. The feeling of having fucked something up, yet not knowing how or why. “There were a lot of people. It was crowded and stuffy and the music was blaring.” 

“You brought your girlfriend,” filled Miles in. “You were spending every minute with her. Ignoring me.” He quickly added, with a whiff of melancholy, that, “I didn’t expect you to hang out with me that night, to be honest. Around that time…I mean were fighting constantly by then. Seemed like it was all we were doing.” 

“’bout the dumbest shit.” 

“There was a guy at the party.” 

The painting became clearer. And Alex’s heart sank. Dread sat in. “He was flirting with you. You were flirting back.” He began to make out the particulars. “You smiled at him.” While he’d been dancing with Louise, he’d caught sight of it and stared, unable not to. The scene had sucked the air right from his lungs and bloated the room with toxic fumes. “I walked over…” 

“Made a scene. Got mad at me for—” 

“Living your life,” Alex finished, overcome by stark remorse. And then it hit. The words he’d said. The accusation he’d made. The next sentence came out strangled and hoarse. “I asked what you’d do if I gave you a birthday kiss.” He’d shoved the remark into his face in the vilest of ways as if slapping him with it. Alex saw Miles’ face, then. In his head. That look he’d given him. Cut and wounded. And yet, so graceful and dignified, which had had a ruinous effect on Alex’s already spiraling composure.

“I told you,” said Miles, step by step filling in the blanks, “that my lips come at a price and that it hadn’t changed.” 

“And then…” Ice water ran through Alex’s veins. 

Miles continued. “You called me a liar.” Reminiscing had battered his voice into a strengthless whisper, too. “I believe your precise words were, _You’re a fucking liar, Miles Kane, you’re a fucking hoe. You’re free for all._ ” 

“ _Says the guy who falls in love at the same rate other people change socks_ , you replied,” concluded Alex, struck by the clear picture that had become visible in front of his inner eye. “ _The guy who falls for everyone but me._ ” A sharp memory, slashing through the strides they’d made, plunging them back to where it had all fallen to pieces. 

“I was mad,” spoke Miles after a beat. “Angry. And hurt. I waited for you to call and apologize! Days went by, then weeks, then months…” 

Alex leaned back, wiped his eyes, and shook his head. A deprecating chuckle bolted from his lips as he gathered his thoughts. He’d been so in love with him. It stung, even now, as he cast his mind back to it, that Miles hadn’t seen it. His partner, _his Miles_ , was supposed to be capable of reading his heart and his soul. But he hadn’t, then. He couldn’t, now. “I waited for you to make the first step and I was furious that you didn’t. I’m stubborn—” 

“And I’m stupid,” interjected Miles, cutting short Alex’s efforts at self-flagellation. “What you said to me, what I said to you – I never thought we’d hurt each other on purpose. But that night, we did. _We_ , Alex. Not just you and not just me. _We_.” For half a minute, neither one said anything. Until, thankfully, Miles’ calm and curious, from glumness recovering words broke the silence that Alex considered suffocating. “Why did you come to me that night, last week? Was it just that I was ‘bout to leave? ‘cause I traveled all over the world for the last year and it didn’t matter then. Why that day, that night?” 

“You’re gonna laugh,” feared Alex. 

“I won’t,” promised Miles. 

He believed him. “Heard a song on the radio,” conceded Alex in a low murmur. “Got me thinkin’.” 

“A song?” He asked softly. “What song?” 

Teeth gnawed on his lip as he deliberated admitting it. He rolled his eyes. “ _Mamma Mia_.” 

“By _Abba_?” 

“Yeah.” 

“’tis a good song.” Miles didn’t laugh. 

Alex continued. “There’s a line at the end. _‘Why, why did I ever let you go.’_ Tried to remember and I couldn’t. Like, I know we had our fights and maybe we both had valid points, or maybe we’re just dumb. I thought back to that time and that night and…whatever it was, whatever made us angry, whatever led us to all that hurt, was it that bad that it should ruin _us_? I figured if I’m unable to recall all the details, I couldn’t have been that awful.” He snorted, now. “Thanks to our little flashback moment just now, I realize that it was fucking awful, much more so than I may hazy mind remembered. Anyway, then I found out from Matt that you were leaving. I knocked on your door. Ruined your sleep…” 

“I’m so glad that you did,” Miles said with all seriousness. “And grateful.” 

“It’s been a long and weary day. Can we postpone all this apologizing and hashing shit out to tomorrow?” His head was heavy. Alex rested it into his hand, arm propped up on the counter. “Tell me something funny – anything. Something to cheer me up.” 

“Taylor really tore into you, huh?” 

Taylor. His breakup with Louise. The one he’d yet to tell him about. “Well…yeah.” 

“Here’s a new bit of information. Got my ear pierced.” 

The head’s hefty burden forgotten, Alex shot upright. “What?” 

“Yep. Didn’t even hurt.” Miles sounded proud and it made Alex grin. “Not a bit.” 

“What’cha get? A stud? A diamond?” 

“A ring. Little silver ring. Looks really cool!” 

“Show me! Send me a selfie!” 

Back in Nice, Miles burst into laughter. “There’s a sentence I’d never thought I’d hear you say!” 

“Do it,” Alex nagged on, too impatient to make room for his friend’s jokes. “Come on, I want to see!” 

“Jeez, gimme a sec.” 

A moment later, the selfie arrived. 

He clicked on it. Zoomed in. And licked his lips in a manner galaxies removed from anything resembling platonic affection. 

_Fuck!_

He wanted to bite that lobe. He wanted to drag his teeth there. Play with that thing. Tease him. Drive him wild. He grabbed his bottle, raised it, and grunted. 

Empty. 

_Shit._

With a snide glare, he put it back down while bringing the phone back up to his ear. Keeping his response simple, Alex cooled his reaction to hide his state of pining. “Looks really good.” 

_Fucking sexy. Naughty. Insane._

His eyes fluttered. A tsunami of dirty ideas filled his brain. None of ‘em feasible! 

_Fucking platonic friendship!_

“Victoria said I should have gotten my nipples pierced, get a tongue ring, or something, but that shit hurts!” 

Alex bit back a growl. The heel of his hand slapped against his forehead. “Get drunk and bloody do it!” 

“Huh?” 

_Shit!_

_Shit the fucking hell!_

He winced hard. 

_Thinking, Alex. Thinking. Not speaking! Learn the fucking difference!_ “I…er…um…” He squeezed his eyes shut. Hunched over, shaking his head at himself, Alex kept smacking his forehead. _Damn idiot!_

Miles snickered. “Want me to get piercings everywhere, ey? You go first! You’re scared of pain as much as I am! The bloody tattoo already hurt like hell!” 

His friend had taken Alex’s slip of the tongue with humor! Of course, he had. To Miles, it had sounded like the casual, ribbing remark of a friend. It had only been inside his own head that the words were drenched with sexual possibilities. Put at ease, Alex took up Miles’ quip. “Actually, the tattoo didn’t hurt that bad! Getting T’s name removed was worse.” 

“Not your arms. My hip.” 

Alex jolted upright. What hip? What tattoo? What the fuck was he talking about? “You don’t have a tattoo!” And as far as Alex knew, he hadn’t had any procedures done on his hip either. No mole removal, no surgeries, no— His pulse sped up. “You got inked?” Good thing the bottle of beer was empty. He knocked it over once the words registered. “On your hip?!” 

“Riiiight, you don’t know.” Miles chortled. “Uh…” He turned sheepish. “I lost a poker game a while ago. Tough stakes! It was me getting inked or Zack getting permanent make-up. Playing poker when drunk is not a good idea…” 

Alex listened, but very superficially. His mind was still struggling to wrap itself around the fact that Miles, _his_ Miles, had a fucking tattoo. On. His. Hip! Where was it precisely? He needed information! On the jutted bone? That lean, narrow, alluring piece of his anatomy which he loved tracing with his finger so fucking much? Was it visible when he wore pants? Or those low-riding briefs that… 

_Motherfucking platonic friendship!_

All that fucking time apart had done bloody nothing to kill any of his attraction to him! “What’s it you got? A name? A symbol? A flower?” Without specifics, he couldn’t fittingly supply his endless fantasies with new material. “Notes? Lyrics?” 

Miles cackled. “A small guitar. Black and grey. Like contours and such. Looks kinda classy.” 

“Picture.” 

“Alex!” 

“You sent me a selfie with the piercing!” 

“It’s on my hip! Not gonna send you a dick pic!” 

It was _that_ low? Was Miles so bloody unaware that he didn’t get what his careless lines were doing to Alex? Pinching the curve of his nose, right between his eyes, using up every single blood-supplied brain cell he’d left to render the mental image of a naked Miles inside his head, he sank his teeth into his lower lip and choked down that moan that was desperate to escape! 

He’d also like a dick pic. 

_Jealous-Alex_ used the absence of supervision and piped in, “Did you have it in Berlin?” 

_Oh no!_

_FUCKING THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK!_ The voice inside his head screamed from the top of its lungs. 

“Berlin?” wondered Miles. “Why does—” He got quiet, then. 

Alex wanted to drop dead. What had he done? “Can we forget I said that? Please? Got a feeling it’d go a long way in repairing our friendship.” 

_God, how fucking moronic can one person be, huh? Well done, Turner! Fucking well done! Where the hell was_ smart-Alex _when he was needed?! Likely locked in a room somewhere, dreaming ‘bout tattooed and naked, pierced Brits. One Brit…_

“No,” Miles all but whispered. 

Of course, not. It’d have been too easy to grant him that favor, right? _Fuck!_ “Alright,” drawled Alex. “Here goes, then: I’m sorry I asked it. I crossed a line. I wish I could tell you why I asked it. It just came out. Slipped out before I could employ proper judgment. I’m so sorry. I wish—” 

“Alex,” curbed Miles. “No.” 

“I messed up, will you fucking let me apologize for it?!” 

“No!” 

“Oh, that’s—” 

“Fucking listen to me. _No._ Hear that? No, I did not. It’s all I’m gonna say ‘bout that. But, no,” he repeated sternly. “I did not have it then.” 

He didn’t? Nobody else had seen it, then? Nobo— 

Berlin had been over a year ago. 

Berlin was the only one he knew of. Sure, Miles had told him it had been a one-time thing. But what if that only applied to the person he’d been with in Berlin? What if there had been others? Wasn’t it safe to assume there were? He’d been single the entire time. He’d had every right for there to _be_ others. A sickening feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and it made him queasy. “I…uh…it’s late, isn’t it?” 

“Alex—” 

“Just…it’s late, Miles. Can we agree on that? This one time? Can we agree that it’s late and that we should call it a night and not think too much of it? Can we _please_ do that?” 

He didn’t want to, and the reluctance was audible in every single syllable when he answered but good friend that he was, Miles let Alex have this one. “Alright. Call me tomorrow. Morning! I dare you not to!” 

“I will.” Maybe he’d get away with a thirty-second call to exchange weather updates or something. “Night.” He cut the call before anything more could slip past his loose lips. 

And because he was a little drunk – he had to be for all the shit that had made it out of his mouth – and so fucking beyond caring, he scrolled through his contacts and then hit dial. 

“Alex Fucking Turner!” Zack boomed through the phone. “You live? When was the last time you called me?” 

He flinched. _Friendship-Alex_ had some serious work ahead of him. “My man! I love you, you know that! I’m a shitty friend. Can you forgive me?” 

Zack being Zack forgave him in a split second. “Done. What’s new?” 

“Not much.” Alex, teeth gritted, tackled his way through shallow small talk. “You?” 

“Got engaged, bought a house, toured some, visited friends, nothing big.” 

A snort. “What a boring life you live, huh?” 

“Tell me ‘bout it,” laughed the friend. 

“Engagement. Congrats! When’s the wedding?” 

“The future wife can’t settle on a location, so, as soon as she’s found one, we’ll let you know. You’re invited. You, Miles, the entire _Monkeys/Kane/Puppets_ gang. Speaking ‘bout Miles. Is it true you two are hating on each other? My man Miles is very quiet ‘bout the whole issue. M’asking ‘cause there’s no room for hate at my wedding! One of you will have to stay home, then, and I hate to break it to you, but Miles has been a better friend to me in the last year or so.” 

Another one to the gut. 

_Take note,_ friendship-Alex: _come Monday, you’ll get a list of people to call and fucking reconnect with!_

“No need for worries. Mi and I are getting… _somewhere_.” He’d have given a far more flourishing outlook on the state of their friendship but after the last call? Baby steps! “No hate between us. Only—” 

“Love?” 

Alex grimaced. Eh. That was a dangerous word. “As I said, we’re getting somewhere. Speaking of that.” Time to start fishing for some information. “Heard a rumor he hooked up with lots of people last year. Must have had a hell of a year, huh?” 

“Not really, no. Was pretty downtrodden, actually.” Zack thought about it for a period of time, remaining silent as he did so. “Can’t recall anyone…” 

Downtrodden? He’d been gloomy all year? His Miles had been glum? Alex felt horrible. He, too, had been sad. Damnit, he should have reached out sooner! 

“But I fully agree with you. Time for the guy to have some fun. I got this guy in my neighborhood! Awesome dude. Like, he’s open ‘bout that, ey? There’s a story that you hooked up with him a few times. You have a girlfriend, so you’re cool with that, right?” 

Wait, what? “Come again?” 

“Miles,” reiterated Zack. “He’s into chicks and dudes, true? And I got a dude that would be perfect for him. He’s a stunner. Surfer dude. Chiseled! Funny one. Likes rock music. Wants to meet some guys, get back into dating after the end of his relationship. Miles is single. Think he’s into surfer dudes? He’s tall and he’s got long blond hair. Like I said, fine specimen. He’s a far cry from you. But he’s into music!” 

_Ouch!_

Straining his neck to check his reflection in the kitchen window, Alex tilted his head from side to side and furrowed his brows. His hair was longish. A bit outgrown. A little trim here and there and it’d be perfect. Not blond, whatever, but dark. Luscious dark brown. The envy of many a person. His _natural_ color. And not a single hair was grey! So, fine, he couldn’t surf. But _he_ was a fucking rock star! If he didn’t tour arenas, sell millions of records, and write rave-reviewed songs, then, _maybe_ , he’d have time for some silly surfing, too. Had to be easy, if sun-burnt, chiseled _dudes_ could do it! 

And he was chiseled, too! 

_And_ he had a tattoo! 

“I don’t know… A surfer?” 

“I surf,” Zack stretched, apparently taking offense at something Alex said. 

“You’re an awesome guy,” he quickly assured. “Simply saying, Miles might prefer it a bit on the…” The _Alex_ side? “The _British_ side.” 

“I know a hot Brit who models for a living. Should see him shirtless!” 

“I don’t think Miles is looking for a relationship right now.” But if Miles found out what Alex was saying, then Alex might be on the lookout for a new best mate very soon! 

Zack made a noise, indicating his doubt. “He better get into dating, soon. The invite will be for him and a plus-one. I’ll get the surfer’s approval to dish his number to Miles. We’ll see ‘bout it.” 

“Yeah.” 

Definitely. 

“Uh,” Alex lied, “there’s somebody knocking on my door. Gotta go. Call you soon!” 

“See that you do,” advised Zack. “Bye, Turner.” 

**#The next morning**

“I called!” The two words, bouncing into the phone with an air of achievement, fell on tired ears. 

“Could have called in an hour.” 

“But I’m up.” 

“Good for you. I’m not.” There was rustling. “It’s not even eight a.m.! Why on earth are you up already? Worse, why are you so…perky?!” 

“Perky?” Alex grabbed the towel from the crossbar’s handle and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He chuckled. “I’m simply in a good mood. I’ve gone for a run, lifted some weights, and made progress with fixing my life. Plus, I got an early appointment at the hairdresser.” Sometimes, being a rock star paid off.

“Are you dying?” The words came from the phone with equal parts fear and disbelief. Miles’ demeanor was grave, awake by now. And he wasn’t done with his questions! “Did you hit your head? Did you fall? Do you need a doctor? Should I come right away to offer some last words?” 

Laughter from Alex. “What’s with you? I’ve worked out before!” 

“Not before noon. And once you’re done you usually curse like a drunken sailor and demand a stiff drink as a reward for some very basic exercising!” 

“You make it sound like I’m some lazy ass deadbeat!” 

“You’re not. You just don’t like getting up early, and when I say, ‘don’t like’, I mean, ‘you hate it with a passion!’ That aside, you and exercising…you box. I’ll give you that. Lucky for you, you’re one of the few people in the world who get muscles without having to do much for it.” 

“Speaking of muscles…” He glanced at his upper arms. Flexed his deltoids. “You like ‘em?” 

“Are you drunk?” 

Alex rolled his eyes. “Answer, will you? What’s your opinion ‘bout muscles?” 

A groan hit his ears. “It’s nice to have ‘em?” 

“What about blond hair?” He twirled a strand of his dark curls. 

“Seriously, are you drunk?” 

“I asked you a question.” 

“If you want a make-over, I’d suggest copper. You don’t have the personality to pull blond off.” 

“What?!” He huffed with indignation. “Here’s something that a lot of people seem to forget these days. I’m a bloody fucking rock star! I ooze confidence. I command entire arenas and audiences of tens of thousands! If I want to be blond, I will be blond. And I will excel at being blond!” 

“We’re wearing _cocky-Alex_ this morning…” 

Alex felt magnanimous enough to ignore that. “You usually date people with dark hair. Suki was blond, but it’s been a while since that’s over. What’s your outlook on it, now?” 

“I’m not kidding, Alex. Are. You. Drunk?” 

“I. Am. Not.” 

“Why,” grunted his friend, losing his patience, “does it matter what I think about blond hair? Tell me you’re not honestly considering getting a bleach job!” 

“Am not,” muttered Alex, annoyed he wasn’t getting the answers he was aiming for. “Come on! Blond or brunette, what’s sexier?” 

“I don’t know,” Miles vexed back, syllables stretched with annoyance. “Depends on the person, I guess? Brown looks good on you.” 

He knew it looked good on him. It looked fucking great! “Just good?” 

“Coke? Weed? Pills?” 

“Will you stop?” 

“You worry me.” 

“Do you surf? I know you’ve done it once when we recorded in Malibu. But is it, like, a hobby of yours?” 

“Maybe it’s _me_ ,” mused Miles distantly. “Maybe I’m high and I’m tripping…” 

“You’re not.” 

“I don’t surf. I tried it, I’m not good at it. Never tried again. And it’s nice to chill at the beach. But I’m planted in London. I need smog and shitty weather to thrive.” 

“What about modeling?” 

“What about it?” Miles no longer tried to make sense of him. Which delighted Alex, ‘cause there was no way he could or would explain the motivation for his odd inquiries to him. “Do I wanna do it? Don’t know. I’m a musician. I like dressing up, though.” 

“Not you. Others.” 

“Look.” Miles blew out a breath. “I’m guessing you want a certain kind of answer from me since you keep asking. But unless you tell me what you want to hear, I can’t say it!” 

_Decide now: do you want to go on a date with a surfer, a model, or a rock star? Two of ‘em have swoon-worthy bodies, one can suck your cock so good you’ll faint._ And _has a swoon-worthy body!_

Alex cleared his throat. “Nothing…just…curious. Forget it.” 

“Does this have anything to do with last night?” asked Miles with trepidation. 

“Why? Did Zack call you?” 

“What? Why would he? What’s he got to do with any of this?” 

_Fuck!_ “Er…never mind.” 

“Oh no, not _never mind_! I do mind! You woke me up, you pester me with absurd questions, and now this? What the hell is going on? It got weird at the end, yesterday. You practically hung up on me.” 

Alex plucked on a loose thread on his shorts, uncomfortable about his jealous moment. “I asked a dumb thing last night. What was I supposed to do?” 

“I answered,” Miles tossed back. “Did I not? You move forward.” 

It sounded so easy when he said it. But Alex was starting to comprehend that moving forward could only be done to a certain extend. Because, at some point, they’d reach the end of the road. Just as they’d done back then. They could repair their friendship and fritter away the next twenty or thirty or forty years bickering and joking around, partying together, talking for hours on the phone, listening and writing music together, all of what used to be the pillars of their friendship. And Alex would have the time of his life enjoying it. Up to the very point where Miles would go out on a date. 

That was the end of the road. 

The big crossing. 

Miles could go on that date. 

Miles could not go on that date and choose Alex. 

Or, Miles could not go on that date because there was no option for a date and they’d continue down their path of ignorance, ‘til the next crossing, ‘til the next time. 

At some point, Alex understood, they’d have to address the _Voltron_ -sized elephant in the room, which was: _feelings_. 

Right now, however, he chose to walk on, pretend there was no option for a date, and lie in wait for the next one to creep up on ‘em. “I’ll try moving forward,” he promised Miles. “I’m fine, Mi. I’m not drunk, not high. Just being my silly self. Sorry for wakin’ you. What’cha gonna do, now that I have?” 

“Roll over—” 

“Tsk, I’m not even there!” _Oh, shut the fuck up, Turner!_ “Fuck, sorry! Came out so fast that— Are you laughing?” 

The giggles were undeniable. Miles was wheezing. “You’re one of a kind, you know that? I’ll roll over _and go back to sleep_ ,” noted Miles. “Which I would also be doing if you were here ‘cause I’m bloody tired! Talk later. And stay away from coffee today. You’re too awake for your own good! Bye.” 

“Sleep well.” 

_Dream of me._

.

.

Spoiler part 14:

#

A dreadful deja-vu. 

What was left to say at all? 

“Yeah,” conceded Alex, “you’re right. Got some stuff to do myself and…” 

“Yeah.” Miles got off the floor. “Stuff…” 

“Later?” 

He nodded and hung up and too late recognized that Alex couldn’t see it when he did something and not used words. But, again, what difference did that make, now? 

What did anything matter? 

He grabbed his guitar and left. 

#

Alex stiffened, staring down at his bassist with bulging eyes and much confusion. “Uh, what are you doing?” 

“I’m being Miles. The band and I had a chat. We’ve decided to help you out. If the last two years showed anything, then that you’re fundamentally ill-equipped to fix your love-life without help. This is us, helping.” 

“By making a move on me?” asked Alex, doubtful and irked in equal parts. Arms retreated, pulled back to the side of his frame. 

A hefty snort filled the bedroom. “Fuck, Al. If you think this is a move, you’re off far worse than we all thought!” 

#


	14. Draw Me A Line

**#Miles**

**_#December 31_ _ st _ _, 2016_ **

_“Have you talked to him?”_

_Raising his head and subsequently pulling his sight away from his flute of champagne, Miles met Matt’s eyes and didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know who he was referring to. “He’s with her. I won’t walk up to ‘em. I’m just sitting here, waiting for the clock to strike midnight, and then I’m leaving.” That was the plan. He’d stick to it. This night, much like his days, were neatly arranged. To make sure he wouldn’t wander off and get lost in the madness of his mind._

_Matt placed a warm, comforting hand on his back and gave it a pat. “Sorry, man. I was rootin’ for you guys. When he told me that you…ya know, told him to choose? I didn’t think he’d choose her. I’d have bet every drum I ever had he’d choose you.”_

_“Appreciate the words.” He really did. But hearing him say it, being reminded of it all, it brought with it a pain that he couldn’t bear. Not now, maybe not ever. “Can we not talk about it? Please? I just wanna forget.” He wanted to forget everything. Every kiss. Every caress. Every tender look. Every touch. Every feeling. Everything. He didn’t even want to be here, but he’d promised Zack a long, long time ago. And these days, he was all about being upstanding and true to his word. To prove to himself that Hannah had been wrong. To prove to himself that he wasn’t a shitty person, that he wasn’t the worst friend one could possibly have._

_Forcing out a smile, he shrugged as he raised his glass. “Here’s to hoping that 2017 will be a better one!” How had it happened? How had he come to feeling so blue? Four months ago, for a short period of time, he’d been the happiest he’d ever been, despite crushing guilt and fears of losing his best mate, he’d danced on clouds and kissed the sun. And now? Eyes snuck a glance at Alex, who stood with his arm around Taylor’s neck, chatting with some people. Miles pulled his attention away. Changed the topic. Tried to distract himself as his heart clenched in agony. “How’s the new album coming along?”_

_“Good,” admitted Matt, only to smirk. “Different. You know Alex. Never do the same thing twice.”_

_Miles agreed with a small nod. Somebody else walked up and he, grateful, used his chance for an escape. “Gonna catch a smoke.” He was off the stool and gone before anyone could stop him._

_“You ignore my texts,” Alex barged out, as though they’d been in the midst of a conversation. In reality, they hadn’t spoken since the day Miles had told Alex to pick. “You don’t answer when I call. You won’t let me explain it.”_

_Sight fixed on some plain stretch of the brick wall, away from him, Miles took a long drag of the cigarette, mentally preparing himself, before answering. “I don’t need you to explain anything, Alex. I wanted you to decide and you did. That’s all that matters.” He wasn’t angry. Or particularly emotional. He was beaten. Exhausted. He felt physically drained. Funny what broken hearts could do to people. He’d never known before._

_“And,” continued Alex, adding accusation to his tone, “because you didn’t get what you wanted, you quit our entire friendship?”_

_Quit? “I wanna be with you, Alex!” Saying it hurt. It hurt so much. Each word tore on the rips and cuts that had shredded his most needed muscle. “I can’t be your friend right now. I want to. I honestly do. I miss you more than anything. But you must understand…like, don’t you? That I can’t?”_

_Alex wrenched his cigarettes out. With perfected swiftness, he lit one up. Inhaled. “I don’t get why you had to ruin it. If you’d let us carry on what worked so well on—”_

_“I don’t,” interrupted Miles, “want to have this conversation again.”_

_“I do,” shot Alex, angrily._

_Miles kept his eyes averted. Carried on smoking._

_Stepping into his line of sight, Alex glared at him. “Selfish asshole! That’s what you are! You made a choice, but it affects me as well! I wasn’t willing to give up on us. I don’t wanna give up on you, now! I don’t want to lose our friendship! I don—”_

_Now, Miles snapped. “You can’t have fucking everything!”_

_“Why the fuck not?!” Alex flipped the cigarette away, grabbed Miles’ head, and kissed him._

_Miles fought back. Struggled. Shoved. Thrust him away, or tried to, until the pushes became pulls and the groans of protest became moans of need. For ten seconds, maybe twenty, he allowed himself to enjoy this. To take and to savor and to relish, until his heart began to bleed out and his lips turned icy in response._

_Alex, at last, let up with a loud growl._

_Wiping his lips, disgusted by himself, Miles stared at his former friend in wide-eyed shock. “I don’t get you. You could have this. You can have all of me. I’m right here, available.” Why didn’t he see it?_

_Shaking his head, Alex objected bitterly. “You don’t want me!”_

_“I want ALL of you! Don’t you understand?” Tears filled his eyes. He wasn’t even ashamed of it. Months removed from that moment at his house, Alex’s reply was the same callous silence. “Let me go,” pleaded Miles. “Just let me go.”_

_Alex’s eyes, to Miles’ amazement, had dampened, too. “I can’t.”_

_“You have to!”_

**#Saturday morning, present day**

“Zack, my man, how’s it going?” 

Zack, his man, cheerfully answered. “Great, Miles! Phenomenal. The lady is finally getting somewhere with the location. Told you all ‘bout the fancy places she’s checked out. Turns out she doesn’t like ‘em much. Might be a beach wedding. Having my fingers crossed!” 

“Awesome!” As long as that beach wedding included leisure-wear and no shoes, he was down for it. Nothing killed his party-mood more than having sand inside his socks. “Give the lady my best.” 

“Will do.” 

“So…you heard from Alex, huh?” He’d debated the entire day, yesterday, about giving Zack a call and finding out what he and Alex had talked about. His curiosity had skyrocketed after Alex had been a bloody riddle on the phone, spinning in circles, digging for answers to questions that made no sense whatsoever! Whatever he was doing in Paris – all that housecleaning as he called it – clearly, it wasn’t good for his psyche! Being as persistent as he could be, Miles had drilled to get some proper answers. Alex had refused to supply them. It was time to look for different ways to gain the information he sought. “What’s new with him?” His tone casual, he saw no need to inform Zack that he and Alex had talked just yesterday. Or the day before. Or texted a bunch of times in between. 

“With Turner?” Zack chuckled and the slight tint of a deeper meaning hiding inside that burst of amusement immediately got Miles' eagerness for explanations to reach new heights. “He’s quite proprietary, that one. Never noticed before.” 

“Alex?” It puzzled him to hear so. His Alex? He guessed he could be called reluctant when it came to sharing what was his. But proprietary? There was nary a thing Miles could recall that Alex ever withheld from him. “Why would you think that?” 

More laughter, which irritated him even more. “Oh, nothin’ but an observation. You’re single, right?” 

“Er, yes.” His mind was otherwise occupied. What kind of observation? What had Zack and Alex discussed? And how could Miles find out without being too obvious? 

“Good,” said Zack, happy about that. “I’ll text you a number. Call him. He’s hot. He’s dying to meet new people. He’s totally your type, even if he’s not. Give him a chance!” 

“Wait, what?” Dating? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on one. “Who? Huh?” 

“A date, Miles. Go on a date! He lives in Los Angeles. But he’s taking part in a few summer competitions. Surfing. He’ll be in Ibiza in a while. That’s why I thought of you. You’ll be there, too. Perfect spot for some hot summer lovin’! Come on, you won’t regret it. He’s got a body to die for! I tell ya! Even me and my baby aren’t blind to his beauty. Saying, if she and I were into that sort of thing, we’d totally make a move. But he’s on the one-partner side of life and so are we. Perfect for you, too. Some simple, steamy affair. Call him. Do it!” 

“Eh…appreciate the effort, but—” 

“You’ve been single for too long. What’s holding you back?” 

Some cocky Brit with commitment issues? Misguided hopes for what, really? That one day the stars would align in the right way and shine a light onto the solution? 

Miles wanted to snort at himself. Even now, lifetimes removed from his affair with Alex, he still felt tied to him. For some inexplicable reason, his heart wouldn’t stop longing for him. He wanted to go on dates. He’d gone on a few, too. But each time the moment for a kiss or something more arrived, he froze and saw that face that he could spot in any crowd, in the middle of the night, blind. Eyes closed, he leaned back against the amp on stage, on the floor of which he sat, letting his mind wander. 

It drifted back to the few days that one long-passed summer when he’d shared endless nights in his arms. He’d been so happy, then. So content. The bus had never stood still, always blitzing from one city to the next, but despite millions of mile markers and endless traveling, he’d felt right at home, dead center in Alex’s embrace. Locked up inside those arms that were tight in exactly the right amount. Nobody gave better hugs than Alex. Nobody knew how to hold him perfectly, except Alex. Nobody knew how to kiss his lips in that certain way that made his knees buckle and his groin tight. Kissing Alex was ruinous. Once you've tasted his lips, all others became stale and undesirable. 

“Make a move, Miles.” 

He stumbled out of his thoughts. “What’s that?” 

“Make a move,” repeated Zack. “Stop waiting around. I don’t know what you’re waiting for, but if it didn’t show up for the past year, don’t count on it now. Give the surfer a chance. Hey, the future wife is calling, gotta go. Let me know how you decide!” 

“Will do.” He hung up, grabbed the guitar resting next to him, and strummed aimlessly. 

When the phone chimed, indicating a new message, Miles glanced at it. 

_‘How big is it?’_

Loud laughter burst from him and filled the quiet and empty concert hall. Ever since he’d let him know that he’d gotten a tattoo, Alex was hellbent on seeing it. However, it was in a rather intimate area and they weren’t the kind of people anymore who bared those stretches of skin to each other’s eyes. 

‘Small,’ Miles texted back, once again trying to quell his nosy endeavor. ‘Quit it.’ 

The reply came at lightning speed. _‘Can’t. You know me. Is it swirly? Airbrushed? Clean? Simple? Need details! You know mine. Wanna know yours!’_

_‘Yours is the symbol for your hometown. On. Your. Arm!’_

_‘Yours is a guitar. Zoom in if you must or crop the image. I want one!’_

Miles drooped further against the amp and hit dial, not in the mood for extended typing. “It’s not on my hip.” 

“Okay?” Confusion spoke from him, dipped with annoyance, and topped with zeal. “Where then? On your side? Can’t reach it with your phone? Use a mirror or—” 

“It’s on my pelvic,” blurted Miles at last, “so will you give it a rest?” 

“No,” stated Alex with the sort of sincerity that had Miles resort to whining. 

“Aaa-a-a-leeee-e-x!” 

A mighty growl came from Paris. “Cut it out, will you? Fine. Leave me hanging, _mate_!” 

“I don’t get your fixa—” 

_Surfer._

The word exploded into Miles’ consciousness like a bloody atomic bomb. He’d called Zack to find out what he’d discussed with Alex. Zack’s mention of a date had sidetracked him, but that had been the part he ought to have been paying the most attention to! 

_Surfer._

Zack wanted to set him up with a surfer, hence Alex’s question if Miles was into surfing. Alex knew, then, of Zack’s intention. 

Miles would bet a pretty good Gibson that the surfer had blond hair. 

And the little fucker – Alex, not the surfer – had decided to get involved! 

“MIII-I-I-LES! Are you still there?” 

He blinked at his phone, which he’d absentmindedly lowered into his lap. He raised it back to his ear. “Sorry. Got distracted for a sec. Uh, listen, I talked to Zack earlier.” 

A telling pause. “You did?” 

Miles bit back a curse. How nervous Alex sounded. How uncomfortable. His assumptions were confirmed. “Yes.” 

Waiting. 

Silence. 

“Anything you want to tell me?” wondered Miles with a placid tone, something he had a feeling might change very soon. Crossing his outstretched legs and settling in, he had time, now. Damn Alex and his meddling ways. What was it to him if Miles went on a bloody date? He had a fucking girlfriend to think about! 

“Look,” Alex said, deploying a diplomatic tone of levelheadedness, “if this is about the model—” 

There was more?! “What model?” nagged Miles, impatient and cross. “I’m talking ‘bout the surfer!” 

Levelheadedness exited the building. Touchiness took over. “You said you’re not into life on beach,” tossed Alex back, his voice ripe with irritation. “What’s a surfer gonna do for you, huh? If you’re gonna be mad at me, be mad for proper reasons! I was looking out for you! A blond surfer, Mi? Don’t you think you can do better than that?” 

That was so not the fucking point! Besides, asked Miles with a peevish bite, “What if the blond surfer is the next Mother Theresa?” 

“He’s a blond surfer,” his friend drawled with mocking dryness. “Don’t get your hopes up.” 

“Listen to me 'cause I’m only gonna say this once: Fucking stay out of my dating life. Are we clear?” 

“Why are you so angry?” Alex barreled on, undeterred. “I was being a friend! I don’t know what Zack told you, but I haven’t done anything wrong!” 

“I know you, Al. You sounded bloody guilty when I mentioned Zack’s name. You’ve done something. You know it and I know it. Stay the fuck out of it, will you? This is where I draw the line. This is the part that you and I will not discuss!” 

“’cause proper friends,” scorned Alex, “never chat about relationships, right? What if I want to talk about my relationship with you? What if I want to tell you that I b— What then? Will you tell me to shove it and find a different friend? Will you te—” 

“Yes, I will!” 

_Damnit!_

He hadn’t meant to bark it like that. Running his fingers through his hair, grunting, Miles tried anew. “What I meant—” 

Alex cut him off. “No need to repeat yourself. I heard you the first time.” 

“Then fucking let me explain it! Are you seriously telling me that you want to discuss your relationship with me? After everything that happened between us, you want me to give you advice or vice versa?” Miles couldn’t believe it. “’cause I can’t do that. Listening to you telling me how fucking in love you are is not something I can handle. It’s bad and awful and maybe I should have been able to move on from you a long time ago, but I fucking can’t! And as your friend, I’d appreciate it very much if you did not involve yourself in my love life. You said I’m not supposed to feel guilty ‘bout it. I’m trying, alright? But it ain’t easy. Knowing you’re asking ‘bout it, knowing you’re poking around, and butting in, and – I don’t know what the hell you were doing, looking out, whatever – I fucking can’t have that! I don’t want to know anything about you and her and I don’t want to tell you anything about me and whoever there may be. Everything else is okay. But that one part of our lives needs to stay off-limits!” 

“Then why do we fucking bother, Miles? What the hell are we even doing, huh?” 

“We’re trying—” 

“We’re bloody wasting our time!” 

“No!” 

“You can’t handle the idea of me and somebody else and I fucking can’t stomach the thought of you and somebody else. What is this?” 

The question, stripped bare and brutally honest, sat between them, heavy and large, not only blocking out the light, but also any sort of hope both might have had to one day reach a level of friendship that resembled what they had in the past. 

His free hand reached out and Miles trailed a finger over the neck of the guitar, following the line of the string down to the body, where he let go with a single strum. What was this? Al was right. They were wasting their time pretending they could move on from it, were they not? He cared so bloody much about him that he couldn’t not have him in his life and yet, he had to fight so fucking hard to remain aware that they were friends and nothing more because even the smallest stray off course was enough to make him jealous, nearly drown in longing, or both. “When you asked me a few days ago why we stopped talking…” 

“This might be the answer,” supplied Alex with sadness. “Yes.” 

Thinking back to it, it was the same argument they'd ran into in the past. Until, eventually, they'd stopped having it and ceased talking altogether. 

People entered the concert hall. Stagehands arrived. Their breaks were over, and his quiet corner of the world would soon be a bustling hornet’s nest of overworked, tired, and cranky workers who would not tolerate the demand of a gloomy Brit in need of some silence. “I have to get going. I have to…” He had nowhere to go, nothing to do, really. They could easily continue their conversation while he'd make his way to a different spot. A bench outside, maybe. Or even his hotel room. But what was left to say at the moment? 

A dreadful déjà-vu. 

What was left to say at all?

“Yeah,” conceded Alex, “you’re right. Got some stuff to do, too, and…” 

“Yeah.” Miles got off the floor. “Stuff…” 

“Later?” 

He nodded and hung up and too late recognized that Alex couldn’t see it when he did something and not used words. But, again, what difference did that make, now? 

What did anything matter? 

He grabbed his guitar and left. 

**#Saturday night**

“You didn't call back.”

He was backstage, inside his dressing room, wiping the last drops of water from his body. The phone was on speaker and as he flung the towel away, Miles chuckled. “No, I didn't, Al. I just finished my set. I literally got out of the shower a second ago. If you'd waited maybe half an hour, I would have called.”

“Would you,” poked Alex, sounding unconvinced. “Really?”

Any other day and he'd have taken offense, he'd have bristled at being called a liar. This time? Miles didn't. Alex knew him too well. “Maybe?” 

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“I'm surprised you called,” if he was being honest.

Self-deprecation and humor mixed in Alex's tone. “Me, too, I must admit.” The humor faded fast. “Last time I didn't and it led to a year of silence. I won't have that again. We have to figure out a way to be friends without getting weird around each other.”

“Any ideas?”

“Actually, yes, I do.”

Halfway into his pants, Miles paused to stare at the phone. Stunned. “You do?”

“Not an ideal solution, but yes. Here goes: Until we come up with a better plan, we will strictly avoid certain topics. No discussions 'bout girlfriends, or partners, one-night stands, whatever! No talks 'bout these kinds of feelings.”

Eyebrows furrowed. “Sex feelings?” He wasn't sure he got him right. “Er…?” 

“Love,” snorted Alex. “Love, Mi. No talks 'bout love! Listen, I love you and you love me. In our very own, very twisted, very unique kind of way. We know that. No need to rehash that. That's just a fact. Won't go away. However, we don't have to actually speak about that. This way, we'll avoid getting confused about anything or getting shit wrong. Same goes for us and others. If there are others, they can be there without us acknowledging them. I mean, it’s basically what you want, right? No getting involved?”

“We'll pretend there are no others, then. Even if there are?” 

“Like I said, it's not ideal. In lieu of other options, that's one way to go. You game?”

Alex had a point. Miles had no better ideas. That aside, he also had no dating life as of yet to lie about and he was doing a hell of a job ignoring Alex's girlfriend as it was, so, it wouldn't be hard. “Sure. I'm game.” Not like anything would change!

“Before we start.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry for getting between you and a fulfilled life as a surfer-wife. I was genuinely looking out for you. And I did ask if you're into surfing! For the sake of honesty, Zack said he had a model friend in search of a date. In case you're interested. Aaaand,” he grouched with an eye-roll that Miles could hear through the phone, “for the sake of complete honesty, I told Zack that you weren't interested in any dates. There. Now you know. Technically,” argued Alex, “I didn't do anything wrong. For all I knew, you were happily single. No need to be mad at me for it.” The last word came out with high hopes. “Right?”

Shaking his head as he buried it inside his palms, Miles' lips flew into a grin. “Dick!” The little fucker simply couldn't help himself, could he? “You're forgiven.”

His response was a chipper, “Perfect.”

Alex had not learned his lesson. Miles could tell. He could feel it. Hear it in the way he'd apologized not because he'd felt bad but because he'd known it had been expected of him. Alex would never learn that lesson. He'd always act first to then, maybe, think the first time about it once the fallout became too striking to ignore. And when that was the case, he’d give his whole heart and his last brain cell to arguing his way out of it. 

It was one of the insanely large number of reasons Miles loved him so much. While there might be some truth to what Alex had said, that their love was unique and twisted, it was also very straight forward. Very simple. At least, it was from his side. He loved him. A lot. In the classic, I’d-love-to-kiss-you-and-make-you-happy-kind of way. 

The kind that was unavailable.

Miles made the first step by changing the topic to lighter themes. “How's housecleaning going?”

“Stalling,” complained Alex. On his side of the call, a distant voice could be heard. “Got a house guest. Nick dropped by.”

“You don't sound happy 'bout that.”

“I'm not opposed to guests. But everything I toss away, he grabs and inspects and...” Alex lowered his voice. “He's fucking with my nerves, Mi! He's putting bloody everything on eBay!” 

Loud laughter from Miles, who'd emerged from the little bathroom of his dressing room, dressed and ready to head to the hotel. “Tell me,” he demanded, “what's he puttin' up?” The second he'd get back, he'd search it. “Guitars? I mean, they are worth a ton of money!”

“If only it were some bloody instruments,” groveled Alex, “but m'not stupid. I tossed _Jellybean_ 'cause it had seen better days and whatever, but I kinda like the rest of 'em. He's fucking selling my old shoes! He listed an ancient record player that's no longer working! A tie that he spotted in some drawer. Don’t even know if it’s mine. Maybe it’s yours! Miles, I swear! He's driving me nuts!” 

“What shoes?”

“Don't you fucking dare!” 

The smirk on Miles' lips got wider. “Not gonna buy 'em! Just wanna check. Oooh, I could help raise the price. You know, do some sneaky counter-bidding to amp the profit! You got a ton of stuff you hold onto for no reason! You could get rich sellin’ all that shit!” 

“Maybe,” snarled Alex, “you haven’t noticed, but I’m kinda doing well with my day-job. What the fuck is wrong with people? Why can’t I just clean my house in peace?”

Miles blew right past his rambles. “Nick’s there right now? Give him the phone. We have strategy to discuss!” 

“No fucking way!”

“Alex! I'm helping you out.”

“By committing a crime?”

“Tsk, who's gonna find out?”

“Words every criminal said at some point before getting arrested!” 

Laughter. “Relax, I'm messin' with you!” 

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

More laughter. “Saturday night is the wrong time to list shit on eBay. People are out, partying and stuff. Tell him to—”

“I don't fucking care!” 

Miles sighed with theatric flair. “You're not gonna make a big sale with that attitude!” 

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“Maybe.” He stuffed his belongings into his bag. “Is it working?”

“Let me quote you,” said Alex. “Dick!”

“Gotta go. Headed home. I'll call back in a bit. Wanna hear more.”

“Wait! How 'bout a drawing?”

He squinted, trying to recall any drawings and items of art that Alex had inside his Paris home. “Art always sells well,” he figured, coming up, however, short on the memory-front. The few ones he recalled, Alex wouldn't want to part from.

“Of your tattoo,” shot Alex. 

Miles hung up.

  


**#Alex**

One arm bent behind the head, Alex leaned back inside his bed with a bliss-filled sigh. Rest at last. The other arm held the phone to his ear. Miles picked up. Alex went ahead, skipping a welcome – they talked way too much on the phone to trouble themselves with redundant hellos and goodbyes – to elaborate his rudely dismissed idea from earlier. “A simple drawing would suffice. Paper, pen, that's all you need. Be messy, I don't care. Or use Google and find me something that looks similar. I don't think that wanting to know what permanent decorative embellishment you've added to your body is too much of a demand. Imagine, Miles: One day I'll get a call from the police because they found a grisly mutilated body floating in the Thames and they need me to identify you. How am I supposed to do that, huh? I _could_ do it by checking the tattoo. Unless you tell me in detail what it looks like, or show me something resembling it, or better yet, a bloody pic, I won't be able to fulfill my grim duty, though. Your parents will never know that their poor son perished after a drunken brawl over rock music, taking a stand for the quality of sound and suffering the mortal consequences for it. Is that really something you want to have happening?”

“A drunken brawl that ends with me getting mutilated? That's what you imagine my death will come by? First of all, I'd like to think that I can hold my own in a tiff. Second, if it should come to that fateful ending,” Miles played along, sharing Alex's use of elaborate storytelling, “I'd hope it's because I took a stand for more than just the quality of sound, but for rock in general. Third, I'd like to believe that you remember more about my body than the bloody tattoo!”

Alex remembered Miles' cock in intricate detail. The shape, the size, the feeling of it against his own tongue, the taste, the… A certain part of his anatomy twitched below the sheets. Gulping down a grunt, he rolled his eyes. “You have a birthmark. I know that.”

“See, problem solved.”

“What if a shark bites the birthmark off?” he huffed.

“There are no sharks in the Thames.”

A stretched-out grumble. What’s with the fact-checking? “It’s a traveling shark.”

“What if the traveling shark eats the tattoo ‘cause he’s not into British birthmarks?”

“This one is!”

Miles chuckled loudly. “Give it up. What'cha doing now? Still finding stuff for Nick to sell?”

“Funny. Ha. Ha. I'm in bed, bored, imagining tattoos.”

“Come on, Al.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” groused Alex, staring with fury at the closed door of his bedroom. “The second I leave the room, Nick is there. He found some boxes of God knows what in the basement. Shit I haven’t looked at in years! Old journals, pictures, shirts that got eaten by moths! He faked my autograph and put up one of the pics on eBay. He’s fucking lost it!”

Laughter bubbled from Miles. “I know, I found his listings! Nice pic, though! I didn’t know you posed shirtless by the pool!”

Alex sank lower into the pillow. “Lost a bet against Cookie.”

“Oh, sure,” jeered Miles. “Blame it on that! You should feel flattered, it’s going for a lot of money! Although there is a discussion happening on Twitter right now, arguing back and forth ‘bout whether you took the pic on own your free will. Some say that the cool and aloof rock star Alex would never do something as narcissistic as that. Clearly, they don’t know the real you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Your shoes are off to a good start, too.”

“Fuck. Off.”

There was knocking on the door. “Al, still up?”

“Nick’s at the door. Come in,” he called at the bassist. 

“I’ll leave you to him, then. I’ll go eat something. Text me later?”

“Will do.”

As he hung up, the bassist slipped in, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie and woolen socks. “It’s summer,” noted Alex, irritated. “Like, hot.”

Nick shrugged. He paused in front of the bed as if contemplating his next move.

“You want something?” Alex wondered, flummoxed. “Need anything?”

“Nah, all’s good. So…” He chewed on his lower lip. “What’s it that Miles usually does? He just crawls right in?” A grin of mischief spread on his face. “Alright. Let’s try that.” With that, he all but jumped on top of the mattress, quickly wiggling into position. Which, in this case, meant resting his head on Alex’s stomach while anchoring him into place with both arms..

Alex stiffened, staring down at his band member with bulging eyes and much confusion. He swallowed uneasily. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Roleplaying. I’m being Miles. The band and I had a chat. We’ve decided to help you out. If the last two years showed anything, then that you’re fundamentally ill-equipped to fix your love-life without help. This is us, helping.”

“By making a move on me?” asked Alex, doubtful and irked in equal parts. Arms retreated, pulled back to the side of his frame.

A hefty scoff filled the bedroom. “Fuck, Al. If you think this is a move, you’re off far worse than we all thought!”

Alex decided to act generous and not take offense. Clearly, his bassist was suffering from a freshly developed mental condition. What other reason was there for this married man to fucking snuggle up to him like that?! He tried himself at benevolence. “I’m sure you all mean well and I appreciate the friendly effort.” Appreciate, or found ridiculous, but who cared. Truly. “Nonetheless, I’m all grown up and well versed in handling my life on my own terms!”

“Yep.” Nick remained in place as he dismissed Alex’s claim with broad strokes, not giving an inch. “Keep telling yourself. I found some of your old journals. There was one with a picture of Miles in it. And on that page was a nice bit of lyric. One you, surprisingly, never shared with us. _You settle for little_ , I strive for all. Look at us now, after the fall.”

Some shabby nonsense he’d scribbled down then. “Should have torn the page out! There’s a reason I don’t show you the bad ones. ‘cause they’re bad.” Damnit, it was warm. And Nick, dressed for arctic temperatures, wasn’t Miles. Alex had no tolerance for heating pads unless they came in a very precise shape. “Get off of me!” 

Nick dug his finger in. “Nope. Pretend I’m Miles.” A pause. “Just don’t pretend too much. There’s a limit ‘bout how far I’m willing to go for this. Explain the lyric to me.”

“Not gonna explain some shitty line to you. And for fuck’s sake, why are you pretending to be Miles while shoving questions my way?”

Nick went straight past Alex’s question. “Miles never settled for anything. He’s worked hard to get where he is, now.”

“It wasn’t about his career.” Fuck! “It’s not about Miles at all!” 

“Liar. Keep going.”

“Nick, I’m fucking serious.”

“So am I. Unless you start talking, I’m calling reinforcements. Matt is ready to hop onto the next flight and if that doesn’t scare you into fessing up, Jamie is prepared to pay a visit to your parents!”

“My parents?” screeched Alex. Cleared his throat. Lowered his voice. “My parents?” 

“Why did you choose Taylor? None of us ever got that! Does Miles rub your belly?” 

Alex jerked back, eyes coloring black with a warning. “Try, I dare you. See if you ever play that bass guitar again!”

The bassist exhaled with disgruntlement. “No belly rub, fine. Just trying to get into character. Come on, spill. Why Taylor?”

“That was over two years ago!”

“Talk!”

_Bloody hell!_ “Shit, whatever.” Yes, he’d picked her. Although, he hadn’t exactly picked her. He’d gotten stuck on Miles’ words. He’d dissected them, pried them apart, letter for letter, to look for answers and search for solutions. Taylor hadn’t done anything which had made him want to break up with her. She’d been a good friend to him, a kind companion. She’d shared his humor; they’d lived together at that time. Miles had told him that he’d wanted him to want to break up with her and he’d gotten lost in the phrase. He’d gotten tangled up in the finer points of the sentence structure and he’d analyzed his remarks for loopholes instead of gazing at the bigger picture.

At that time, he’d felt trapped in an image that he’d falsely believed his life ought to look like. Be successful. Be better than before. Have more, not less. Don’t let go of anything. Hold on to all and amass further. He’d stockpiled boxes of achievements, of material possessions, and emotions. He’d not only wanted to have it all, he’d wanted to feel it all. Experience it all. He wanted the girlfriend to write about relationships. He wanted the friendship to write about deep connections. He’d wanted Miles to write about…love.

“I didn’t choose Taylor,” said Alex then, out loud for the first time. 

“But you did,” countered Nick.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t choose. It wasn’t a choice. I did not choose. I dragged my feet, Nick. For months, I debated the entire fucking thing. I made lists in my head, pros and cons, weighing the outcome, and… I didn’t choose Taylor. I failed to choose Miles. Can you please get off of me? You’re freaking me out, I’m not kidding. I’m scared to death you get hard by accident and that it’ll ruin the band!” 

At that, Nick looked up. The are-you-nuts kind of look. Then it morphed into something else. “That’s the whole issue, isn’t it? You got scared.” He didn’t move a millimeter away from him, leaving Alex to spiral further into his freaked-out state. “It got real with Miles and it bloody scared the shit out of you!” 

“I don’t know what Miles told you but I’m not the one who got scared. I was very clear about my intentions and my hopes. I wanted to be with him! And I told him, again and again.”

“As your bed bunny.”

Eyes narrowed. “Fucking get off of me, will ya?” 

“No. Miles told you that he loved you.”

Alex snapped, “And who asked him to do it, huh? If he’d just kept his fucking mouth shut, none of this would have happened! But he had to blurt it out!” He’d been angry at him for it ever since he’d said it. Miles had gone and tossed that piece of truth out, self-serving as he was, only to fucking squash him with it. “What good did it do? Why did he have to do it?”

Now, Nick fully lifted his head up to stare at Alex with even more puzzlement. “He loved you. He thought you loved him, too.”

“He told me that he and I weren’t made for dates and movies and holding hands and— After the first night,” admitted Alex, gaze aimed at the ceiling, away from Nick and his reaction, “Miles told me that he and I could never be. And I made do with that. I adjusted to it. I freed a box for him and I offered it to him and we could have stayed there many times and we’d have been happy inside of it. ‘cause for a little while, we were happy inside of it.” So fucking happy that he still drew from that time. “But he had to go and take a good swing at the walls and make it all fall down. And suddenly he wanted me to change my entire life? If he’d just kept his fucking mouth shut…”

Then, Alex would have never suffered from endless doubt. He wouldn’t have woken up one day, realizing that the love that Miles had mentioned held infinitely more excitement than the love he’d had with Taylor. He wouldn’t have broken up with her because of it. He wouldn’t have waited for days and weeks and months for news of his breakup to reach Miles and for Miles to call or come by and rekindle what had once been. He wouldn’t have distracted himself with music, to the point of withering friendships and sleepless nights. He wouldn’t have gotten frustrated and mad at Miles for not coming back to him. He wouldn’t have flirted with women to spite him, to get a reaction out of him. He wouldn’t have boarded a flight to Berlin one day to make the first step and he wouldn’t have fallen into a brutally deep hole after finding out that Miles no longer loved him that certain kind of way. He wouldn’t have asked Louise to join him for the remainder of their tour. He wouldn’t have dismissed Miles’ arrival in Scotland as some half-assed attempt at fixing a friendship after love was apparently no longer an issue. He wouldn’t have gotten into a fight with him on his birthday. He wouldn’t have stopped talking to him altogether. 

If Miles had never said a word about love, Alex’s life would still be as it was. 

“You were miserable, Alex. You were happy with him and miserable with her. Everyone who knows you saw it. And if Miles hadn’t gotten together with Hannah, you’d have never gotten Taylor’s name inked into your arm. You wouldn’t have asked her to move in with you. You wouldn’t have had to.”

For the moment not caring that Nick was sprawled out over his upper body, Alex pinched his eyebrows as indignation befell him. “Meaning what?”

“You think we never noticed how often you guys stayed at each other’s places?”

“Nothing,” professed Alex, “went down between Miles and me before the end of that summer!”

“Not in bed, idiot. There’s more to love than sex. But Hannah showed up and Miles’ visits became less frequent and your nights turned lonely. That’s how Taylor arrived. That’s how Louise arrived.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter anymore, does it? Louise is gone. We broke up. And Miles is no longer in love with me.”

“That’s not—”

“He told me he has a love life and that it’s none of my business. Believe me, Nick. He moved on.” Maybe there was some lingering emotion left, something that made it hard for Miles to let go entirely, but not enough to reach out and claim him. “We missed our chance. All we can do is save our friendship. Which is why you can’t tell him any of what I’ve just said. If he knew that…” Miles could never know that Alex wished he’d kept his mouth shut. 

“Does he know you broke up?”

“No. And don’t tell him. He doesn’t want to know. That’s the deal he and I made.” Besides, if Miles found out and reacted with indifference, Alex’s heart would break all over again.

“Alright.” Nick settled back against Alex’s belly, curling his arm around him. 

Alex grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and hit him with it. “Get. Fucking. Lost!” 

“Not done yet.”

“Done with what?” roared Alex.

“We, as in the entire band, want to know how Miles did it. How did he get you? Or did you get him?” Eyes squinted as he pondered that thought. “Nah, Miles must have done something. Spill it, you never told us!” His hand unfurled from Alex’s side to wander across the planes of his stomach.

Alex held his breath, ready to attack. Or run. Teeth gritted. “Done what?” 

“Did he just go and kiss you?” Nick rolled onto his stomach, puckering his lips, and blew an air kiss his way. “I’m Miles. Imagine it. Did he snuggle in and never let go? He turned the straightest rock star ever into some gay-oozing, leather-vest wearing, Cohen-covering sex-addict. Can’t blame us for wanting to know how he did it! Were it the little caresses? You’re a bloody softy at heart. We all know! My wife likes it when I do it. You enjoy it when Miles does it?”

“Take your hand away.” 

Nick rolled his eyes. “Spill it and I will! Honestly, I’d love to pull my hand away. I prefer my wife, she’s delicate and silky and female whereas you’re all massive and smell like…” He sniffed. “Car fumes!” 

“Cleaned out the garage,” Alex explained. “And what do you mean, massive?” He glanced down at himself. “I’m in excellent shape!”

Nick groaned extensively. “Yes, you’re _peeeer-feeect_! Get back to the point!”

How did Miles make him fall for him? Alex grinned on the inside, thinking back to their early days and how their relationship had evolved. He just showed up one day and smiled and, really, after that, Alex was done for. He’d never stood a chance against him. Eyes trailed Nick’s fingers as they ran over his tee-clad belly. With a chuckle, Alex dropped back onto the mattress. Nick wanted answers? Fine. “Blow jobs and anal play,” he told his friend, deciding to fight dirty. “Want details?”

Nick scrambled off the bed. “Nope. I’m good.” 

“I will tell you! Come back, snuggle in!”

“Play with yourself, dickhead. I got all I need.” To emphasize that, he held up his hands in defeat. “Oh, one more thing. Before I forget. That large amp in the basement, you still need that?”

“Wanna borrow it?”

“Sell it.”

“Get out!”

.

.

** Spoiler Part 15 **

#

Nick nodded, only to conclude, “Pretending the shit isn’t there is not gonna work.”

“Yeah,” sighed Miles, with dread. “I’m afraid so.” Yet, what other option was there? He couldn’t listen to Alex telling him about his happy days with his girlfriend. He couldn’t call him up and chat about his dates. He didn’t even want any fucking dates. However, he had to go out again, to make his stubborn heart finally accept the fact that life with Alex was no longer an option. Alex had a girlfriend. Alex wasn’t available. Alex—

“He’s single.”

The bottle, wet from condensed water, slipped out of his fingers unnoticed. Beer spilled everywhere, and it seeped into his shoes. Miles looked down, saw the damage, and didn’t care. His mind was otherwise occupied. “Say that again.”

#

“Alex!”

“No, no,” said his friend, cutting him off. “All’s good. It’s late an—”

“Don’t you fucking dare hang up right now!”

“Mi—”

“I’m serious,” warned Miles.

“What do you want me to say,” hissed Alex angrily.

“Start by explaining to me which part of me telling you I met a woman triggered your fucking jealousy?”

“The part,” Alex tossed back, “where you didn’t deny your interest in her!”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes!”

He flung his arms up in exasperation. While he did, a headache landed with a sharp pang. Alex was the only person in the world who could start one with just a single word. “Fucking try again and make sense this time!”

#


	15. Translate It For Me

**#Miles**

**#A Week Later, Amsterdam**

“Miles, my friend,” boomed Nick’s excited voice from side-stage, cutting through chaos and clusters of chatter. “Been what, months, right?”

“Definitely too long,” agreed Miles with a wide smile as he strode up to sweep him up into a hug. “How are you? How’s life without tour? Sleeping in every morning, going to bed early every night?” Cheeks dimpled. “Be honest.”

“Fucking boring,” confessed his friend. “How’s life on tour?”

“Fucking awesome,” Miles wasn’t ashamed to admit. They were musicians. They lived and breathed for the stage. He motioned to the back of it, to the refreshments area. “Let’s have a drink. Done rehearsing anyway. Alex warned me you were incoming.” As they made their way over, his eyes swept a speculating sideways glance at him. “Did something happen between you two in Paris? I swear he sounded bloody nervous last time we spoke.” Thinking back to his call with Alex, Miles shook his head and couldn’t fight a chuckle. “Made me swear not to pester you with questions and gave me a stern lecture about respecting somebody’s private life and whatnot.” If that was Alex’s idea of nipping somebody’s questions in the bud, he was in for a shock. That whole ramble had spiked Miles’ curiosity to unknown heights! Cheeks dimpled when he prodded, “What happened?”

Nick, clearly getting what Miles was talking about, refused to offer the remedy to Miles’ dilemma by remaining vague and evasive. “You know Alex,” he waved him off. “Ignore him. Got peevish ‘bout me selling his shit or something. Thanks for counterbidding. The shoes went for a fortune!”

There had to be more to it. It was bloody apparent from the way Nick’s eyes twitched with humor, as if laughing in silence about a joke only he understood. But damn him, he didn’t want to spill, and Miles couldn’t push him without coming across as nosy. That would only get back to Alex. Forced to let it go, for now, he swallowed back a grunt and let him change the topic. “Does he know about my bids?”

“Not a clue. Are you crazy? He’d kill me.”

“Did he want a cut?”

“Told me to take the money and get lost. Swear he’s got no sense for enterprising!” Nick slapped his arm as an idea hit, “The money I could make from selling some of his stuff. His shirts...”

A veritable fortune! “But he needs to wear ‘em first,” snickered Miles. “Get ‘em nice and sweaty.”

“Maybe catch it on camera,” added Nick giddily.

“There’s an idea. The guitars you and I could buy from that!”

“He’d blowtorch us for tryin’, though!” Nick laughed. “Listen, ran into Zack in Paris and told him I was headed your way. Told me to tell you that some, and I quote, ‘fine pair of abs was on its way to Ibiza and awaited a call.’” His brows arched with keen interest. “Don’t know what that means, but I want to. Who’s got abs and why should you care?”

“He’s attempting to set me up.” Miles rolled his eyes, having almost forgotten about that one. “Made me promise to call some surfer and to go on a date with him.” The prospect wasn’t exactly uplifting. “I can’t even remember the last time I went on a proper date.” Not only that. “Feelin’ a little out of depth, to be honest. Like, what am I supposed to talk to him about? His life is totally different than mine.”

“There’s a start, then. You meet new people all the time. Come on, when have you ever worried ‘bout that shit?”

“This time it’s different,” Miles lamented, vehemently defending his reluctance. “Meeting people and getting along just happens. But a date? What we if don’t hit if off?”

“Happens all the time,” volleyed Nick back. “What if you do?”

What then, indeed! Maybe that was the part he was more concerned with. Biting his lip, directing a guilty mien Nick’s way, Miles figured, “I’d have to tell Alex, won’t I? It’s just…we have a deal about that kinda stuff. No discussing it. In the name of fixing our friendship.”

“About that…” Nick grabbed two bottles of beer, then led Miles by his arm away from prying ears and nosy others. “Let’s talk.”

Miles blinked at the onset of Nick’s serious tone. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing bad.” Two long minutes later, they reached the outside. Blinded by the bright sun, Miles shielded his eyes as Nick headed for a nearby set of chairs. He handed him the second bottle. “Alex mentioned something like that. Fill me in.”

There wasn’t all that much to it. “No talking about personal relationships,” elaborated Miles. “’cause it could lead to yet another fight. You know of our past. It’s messy. Tons of unresolved shit.” 

Nick nodded, only to conclude, “Pretending the shit isn’t there is not gonna work.”

“Yeah,” sighed Miles, with dread. “I’m afraid so.” Yet, what other option was there? He couldn’t listen to Alex telling him about his happy days with his girlfriend. He couldn’t call him up and chat about his dates. He didn’t even want any fucking dates. However, he had to go out again, to make his stubborn heart finally accept the fact that life with Alex was no longer an option. Alex had a girlfriend. Alex wasn’t available. Alex—

“He’s single.”

The bottle, wet from condensed water, slipped out of his fingers unnoticed. Beer spilled everywhere, and it seeped into his shoes. Miles looked down, saw the damage, and didn’t care. His mind was otherwise occupied. “Say that again.”

“What’s to say? He broke up with Louise.”

“Alex,” stuttered Miles, dumbfounded. “Alex broke up?” He hadn’t mentioned it at all! Even though they talked constantly. “When? Why? Did something happen? Did he just—”

Nick barged into Miles’ mumbles. “Days ago, I guess. She was all moved out by the time I got there.”

“He didn’t say anything.”

“’cause of your deal, apparently.”

That deal didn’t include keeping massive changes in one’s personal life under wraps! Miles was livid. That was some big, fat thing that Alex had decided to hide from him. And he couldn’t even blame it on a lack of opportunity to bring it up. Alex’s insistence on Miles not badgering Nick about his time in Paris made all the more sense, now. “He told you not to tell me, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” admitted Nick freely. “And I know,” blurted his friend, “that I’m breaking some friendship rules by doing it anyway, but this…whatever it is between him and you will never gonna get anywhere unless somebody fucking does something about it.”

Eyes snapped Nick’s way. “Does something?” How fast this conversation had spiraled into unforeseen territory. “What are you talking about? Alex and I are working hard to fix our mistakes!”

“You wanna fix a friendship? You two are fucking in love with each other. Say it already. Come on!” His manner got impatient. Annoyed, almost. “Do you want that? Be fucking honest, Miles. Friendship? You told Alex that you’re in love with him. You haven’t gone out on any serious dates in years. You spent an entire year fighting with each other ‘cause you couldn’t bloody admit to each other that you want to be together! Then you stopped talking completely. It’s bound to happen again. All the same crap that happened the last time. You start by hanging out again. You laugh. You party. You drink. You stand a little too close. Kiss a little too long. And before you know it, you’re back to screwing! Then starts the arguing. It’s inevitable because you love him and he loves you and not one of you two idiots has the guts to come clean about it. We, your friends, are done with that. It’s gone on for too long! Why the hell do you think he’s reading his fucking self-help book at night? He misses you. He doesn’t know how to get you back without risking his heart. That thing got beaten good. I’m not saying that you hurt him on purpose or whatever. But you pushed him into a corner and you know Alex. He bites. So there he is, scared and miserable, and here you are, no less miserable, but also unaware.”

As Miles listened, he moved his head from side to side in tune to the words of his well-meaning friend, not disagreeing with any of it, yet far from agreeing with it, either. “You were there, Nick. Me and Alex…we had plenty of chances and we botched them all.”

“Yes. And?” Nick took a swig from his beer and shrugged. “Here’s another one. Use it!” 

“What if—”

“Don’t. No what-ifs. Answer me one thing and I’ll quit right now. Why aren’t you with him? You couldn’t be his affair. I got that. But the girlfriend moved out. What’s left that’s stopping you?”

“We…” Blanks. 

Nothing but blanks. All the reasons that had at some point kept them apart had revolved around either a girlfriend or something directly associated with a girlfriend. And the few that didn’t, he’d long ago debated away inside his head.

Nick’s look became pointed. “That’s what I thought. Forget everything that happened. Think back to your summer with him. If you’d been single and he’d been single, imagine where you could be right now.”

He could be single. That was for sure! Where were the guarantees that they would be happy? They were volatile and selfish and tended to vanish into big, isolated bubbles from time to time. 

He could be happy.

He could be in Alex’s arms. 

He could be in love.

Nick got up, plucked his shades from his pocket, and took another draft from his bottle of beer. “Have you ever listened to your own music? You write about taking leaps and going after what’s worth it. Don’t you think it’s time to take your own advice? I mean, do you want him to get bored, find another one, and waste yet another year or two waiting for the next chance? Take the one that’s right in front of you. You’re ready?”

“For more?” asked Miles distantly, lost in thought. 

“Actually,” snorted Nick, lips quirking into a smirk, “that last part was about our dinner. But, sure, if you want to call Alex, ditch me. It’s fine.”

He was in no condition to talk to Alex right now! With a chuckle, Miles got up as well. “Let’s find food.”

*  


It was nearly midnight by the time Alex called and when Miles picked up, he was met with his unfiltered prying. “Did Nick say anything to you? Like, _anything_?”

“He said plenty,” replied Miles, lips flying up.

“O-kaaay? Plenty what? Like, anything I should know about? Anything…”

Alex was wringing his hands so loudly that Miles was convinced he could hear it through the phone. He shouldn’t enjoy this so damned much. Only, Alex was so bloody cute when he was squirming! He got antsy and began to stutter and blabber and they’d be face to face with one another, he’d see him shift on his heels right now. After a few more seconds of rambling, he took pity on him. “Told me all about his eBay adventures.” 

“Aah,” sighed Alex with much relief. Which quickly turned into a wail. “I love Nick to death, but I swear to fucking God if he ever goes through my shit again…”

As his best mate went on to fill him in on the details of his last days, Miles leaned back in bed and listened with one ear only. Swirling through his head were Nick’s remarks. The news that Alex was no longer beholden to anybody. Memories mingled with fears and hopes. Good days and bad days of the past played back in front of his eyes. Days when he’d danced on clouds and days when he’d fallen from them, plunging deeper and deeper, without a parachute, scared to hit the ground. Days after he’d admitted his love to Alex. Days when he’d waited for the call. For any response. Days he’d waited in vain.

Should he tell Alex that Nick had told him the truth?

What would it change right now? They wouldn’t see each other for weeks at least. In a few days, Miles would arrive in Paris, but by the time, Alex would already be on his way to Los Angeles. It would take two weeks. Then Miles would be back in London for a short stretch, and who knew where Alex was headed. That aside, did he even long for things to change? Finally, after a bloody long time, life was good again. He’d been wretched without Alex. Did he honestly want to risk losing him again?

If, and that was a big if, Miles should decide to speak to Alex about the state of their friendship, or rather this chance, as Nick had called it – and which the strikingly optimistic bassist was under the impression was a glorious opportunity whereas Miles would much rather describe it as quicksand – he’d do it in person. Not on the phone. 

“…wine.”

Nestling deeper into the pillows, Miles gave up on the scrambled chaos inside his head and freed it entirely to make room for here and now. For Alex. “What’s that?”

“I said I spent a bucket full of money for a single bottle of wine and it’s the fucking best wine I’ve ever tasted in my life, Mi. It’s divine. I’m three glasses in and I’m not stopping ‘til the bottle is empty!” 

He should have paid more attention before. Eyes narrowed. “Sorry, what? You’re alone, getting drunk by yourself? Is everything alright?”

A long-stretched rumble pulsated against his ear as Alex let his frustration go. “And once again you did _noooot_ pay attention to me…”

He sneered into the dark room. “Uh…distracted. Telly. Listening now. Get back to the wine!”

Alex groaned. “Some friend you are, watching telly while…never mind!” He blew out a heavy breath. “Listening now?”

“Yes,” snapped Miles with little tolerance.

“Good! I went shopping today. David’s wedding. Told you. He’s big into rare wines so I figured I’d buy the happy couple a nice bottle of rare shit. Went to this store and there was a guy. He was impressive and—”

Ears perked up. “What guy?”

“The owner,” Alex tossed back, confused, “I guess. Or—” A beat. “He was in his fucking fifties! Remember the rules, Mi! No you-know-what! Moving on. He was impressive ‘cause he knew everything there is to know about wine! The guy explained to me all the details that make wine great. He offered samples and had me sniff stuff. At first, I was put off, you know? What’s this stranger doing, filling me up one sip at a time, right? I got into it, though. Before I knew what was happening, I was buying a whole box of rare red wines. Oh, and I also found the perfect wedding gift. But the red wine I’m drinking right now…oh, Mi. It’s bloody incredible. Sweet and heady, with a musky note and an air of age to it. A bit slow in its departure but worth the aftertaste.”

That coming from the guy who used to drink warm beer out of plastic cups. “So…you’re into wine now?” Miles needed a second clarification, to be certain. “You’re not drinking that shit straight from a box just to forget life or anything?”

Alex sputtered a laugh. “Maybe I should worry about you and not the other way around! Wine out of boxes? We’ve grown out of that, wouldn’t you say? I am getting drunk ‘cause it tastes fucking good. I’m tipsy already. It’s time for you to get to Paris. I’ll get a bottle for you, put it out for when you stay here. It’s been a while since you’ve been here.”

“True,” realized Miles, his concerns about Alex’s lonesome drinking mellowed for now. “Years,” it occurred to him.

“Two years,” countered Alex as if correcting him. “Yes, that’s years as in plural, but when you say years it sounds like a bloody decade! _Just_ two years. I should warn you. I changed stuff up a bit. The pinball machine moved from the basement to the studio, and as I was at it – the thing is fucking heavy – I left a nasty scratch on the marble tiles in the corridor. Put a white flokati rug on top of it.”

Wild coughs burst from Miles. Alex’s worshipped, holy marble tiles? The ones he’d paid half a fortune to have put in? Covered by a furry rug? “What?”

“Looks fucking mad, I know,” Alex readily conceded, making no secret of it. “Couldn’t keep staring at the scratch, though. Kept making me mad! Oh, and the fridge in the kitchen is new. One of those high-tech monsters. Took Jamie along for the buy. Worst mistake of my life. Still haven’t figured out how to get the ice cubes going. If you want to tinker with that, be my guest. But draw me a guide or so once you crack it. I’ll try to do some shopping before I leave but you know me, so, don’t expect much. Better eat at the airport, just to be safe. Guest-room is still where it was the last time. Probably not quite as neat, however. Stored some boxes there. Throw out whatever gets in your way.”

“I’ll be fine,” promised Miles, touched. “I’ve stayed at your place before.”

“ _Before_ before,” Alex pointed out. “It’s only been two years, but still, it’s been two years! More than that, actually. Close to three years! How awful is that? My house gets to have more of you than I do. Last time you came by—” The words rang out as the ghosts of the past flew in.

Yes. 

The last time he’d been at his house in Paris had been for Taylor’s birthday party. When they’d ended up in his studio, perpetually unable to keep away from each other. 

Alex, no doubt thinking back to the same date and time, cleared his throat. “Uh…other questionable moments notwithstanding, the last time you snuck into my studio, you and Jamie exercised some nice thieving—”

“Thieving that led nowhere,” Miles stretched, eager to jump on that train of distraction, “since you were all out of good shit.”

“The result doesn’t take away from your intentions.”

“Smartass.”

“Deflector!” 

“You’re saying you’ll be out of good shit again?”

“I’m saying I changed my hiding place.”

“Oooh, a challenge.”

Chuckles from Paris. “I knew you were going to say that. Hence my warning: Fingers to yourself. I may or may not have hidden a mousetrap and broken fingers don’t play guitars well.”

“Mean, Alex. Mean!” 

“Proud of it, too. For your information, last time, Jamie’s grabby little hands were right there. Another inch at most and he’d have found the _Yamazaki 18_. I know you two were gunning for it. Size does make a difference, huh?”

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

More laughter from Alex. Miles smiled at the warm sounds that went down like warm milk with honey. He was beyond tipsy.

“Hey, how come you’re in? I figured you’d be out with Nick tonight.”

Nick had suggested going out, but the day had been long, had lugged on, and the revelations had stifled his spirits and crippled his mind with their weight. He’d needed some time to think and get a clearer outlook on things. “Had a headache.” 

“Oh. Um…am I keeping you from resting?” What had been a vivacious voice a moment ago was a quiet tone now, diminished for him. “You can tell me to hang up!” 

“No,” Miles was quick to say. “I’m already better. Feeling better, I mean. It’s fine.” He'd looked forward all day to his call with him. The worst headache in the world couldn’t make him hang up. So far away from him in ways more varied than imaginable, the minutes and hours he was able to pass listening to his dulcet baritone were the ones he cherished most. They were a glimpse of home. “What are you up to, except drinking wine by yourself?”

“Nothing. It’s funny, or weird, I think. I kinda like this whole quiet evening at home-thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not turning into a hermit or something. Going to have lunch with Zack tomorrow. It’s nice, though. Taking a pause every now and then.”

“It is,” said Miles, sharing that sentiment. “Maybe it’s cause we’re getting older.”

“Or wiser.” 

“Both.” 

How badly he wanted to be in Paris right now, have a glass of wine with him, curl up in his arms, and simply breathe him in. Be _with_ him. Pulling the blanket further around his shoulders, taken by surprise to feel cold in these warm summer nights, Miles shimmied deeper into bed. “You still reading your book?”

Soft noises wafted through the phone. A touch of warmth. “I am. On the couch. Doing it right now. Well, not now, but…” The comforting sounds of smiling filled the air. “Got it right here.”

“Anything else,” asked Miles, “that you learned from it?” His words were muffled from the pillow he was hugging.

Alex, apparently, understood perfectly. “There’s this overarching theme. Toss what gives you no joy. I’ve been tossing a whole lot of shit. Old towels, bags of clothes, books that failed to spark my interest, even a few records!”

Eyes widened. “You tossed records?”

“None of the good ones,” assured Alex immediately, putting Miles’ concerns to rest. “Tossed an old Cohen vinyl that I had, which no longer played the tunes properly and kept bugging me each time I put it on. Was scratched and such. Gonna have to get one in better condition. I went through a lot of my collection and rediscovered some that I forgot about! Listened to some very old ones earlier. Been writing a bit.”

“You are?” It excited him. And he delighted for him. Alex wasn’t his best self when he couldn’t express his thoughts on paper. “That’s amazing!” 

“I knew you’d be happy to hear.”

“I am!”

“Tried tossing some of my regrets. Doesn’t work so well.”

Almost whispering, Miles dared to poke some. “What regrets?”

Voice as muted and as hushed as Miles, Alex awarded him with the kind of raw honesty that was rare for him. “Not doing what I should have done when it mattered. That sort. I talked to Nick and… Doesn’t really matter. Well, anyway, uh...” He was wrestling for the right words, always striving to be as concise as possible. To a fault, sometimes. “Do you, like, know the feeling when you hold on to something that somebody said and you do it for a long time and it turns out, instead of being angry about it, you should have thanked the other person for having said it?”

There was an odd, not all that welcome notion of discomfort settling in the pit of his stomach. “Have I said something,” hesitated Miles to ask, “that made you angry?” They'd accused each other of so much, he was more than aware. Yet, if Alex had held on to a single remark for this long, it had to have been especially bad. 

“It isn’t important anymore. It’s not why I mentioned it. Besides, you did nothing wrong. You did right. You said what you had to say. I’m the one who…who needed way too long to get that. This book, you know, it’s got a few smart ideas in it. But a lot of nonsense as well. What you said to me the other day, that life is best lived by appreciating every part of it, it got stuck in my head.”

“I said that? That sounds so smart.”

Alex giggled. “You’re a very smart man.”

“You’re such an Ultracheese!”

“Nu-uh.” Giggles became laughter. “Still not the right meaning.”

For a short while, Miles basked in the weightless amusement that hung between them and filled the silence with affection. Then he needed to know. “Did you toss your boxes away? All your labels and color-codes?”

“I want to,” confessed his friend quietly. “I was jealous. That day, so very long ago, when I got stung by a bee and you talked to the redhead and I left without saying goodbye. I was jealous. I told you I wasn’t and I lied. I didn’t like that I was. It didn’t fit into the box that I had prepared for you and me. There was no room for jealousy in it. How could there be? We were supposed to be above all that. You and I, we were supposed to be light and fun and adventurous and nothing like a relationship. ‘cause relationships ended. They had always done that. When you and I were done, we’d go back to being friends, as we’d always promised. We’d never end. Regardless, I was jealous. Before Berlin. Before I broke up with Taylor. Before you told me that you were jealous and in love with me, I was jealous. And I’m so sorry that I never told you that.”

It had been lonely and cold in his bed before. The mattress was a wide field now, covered in ice. And Alex, countries away, the only fire that offered heat. “If you could go back in time…” Miles swallowed in silence, hesitant and wondering if speaking the next part out loud was such a wise idea. If only he didn’t care so much for his reply. “Would you change anything?”

“I don’t know,” Alex gave forth, taking his time to think it over. “I’d like to say no. Then again…”

Miles wanted to know. “Then what?”

“You really care for my thoughts?” posed Alex, with doubt. “They can be quite boring.”

“They never are. Tell me,” he pleaded.

“For a long time, I regarded relationships with a…” It took a moment for him to find the right word. “With a sense of disdain. Or, maybe, a sense of trepidation. I’m not entirely sure. All those couples, they fell into their patterns, they became victims of boredom and day-to-day routines. I wanted adventure. Remember when you asked me why I became a musician and I told you I sorta slipped into it?”

Into the dim room, Miles nodded.

As if Alex had seen, he carried on. “I didn’t want the life everybody else had. I wanted one that was special and different and exciting and took me to places I’d never been to before. I thought settling down would keep me from it.”

“But you had relationships,” Miles pointed out to him. “Long ones.”

“Relationships that I never awarded the devotion they deserved or required to prosper. All of ‘em failed, Mi.”

Miles closed his eyes he prepared to ask what suddenly burnt a hole into the bottom of his stomach. “You think ours would have failed as well?” It still echoed in his ears how Alex had referred to their affair as an adventure, something that stood afar from regular life. “If we had tried, don’t you think we could have made it work?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think now. Back then, though?” Seconds of thick silence ticked down. “No.”

“I think we would have found a way.” He repeated the words that Alex had offered nearly three years ago. “We’d have figured it out eventually.”

“You said we aren’t meant to share a stage forever.”

“The stage and the mic,” added Miles, traveling back in his mind to that moment in time. He’d been in Alex’s arms, then. Shielded from reality and blissfully happy. “There’s a difference between a stage and a bedroom.”

“The world is littered with stages, Mi. There’s just a single bedroom. And in my experience, it is a very fragile place.” Alex breathed through the loaded moment and conceded that, “I wish I would have put more faith in us, I’ll grant you that.”

“Yeah.” Miles rolled onto his back, giving the admission it’s worth of time. “Me too. Feels like I always assumed the worst, no matter what happened.”

“I wish I would have been less selfish and,” added Alex, muttering the next part in such subdued a murmur that Miles wondered if had even been meant for his ears. “I wish you would have been more selfish.” Alex exhaled steadily, but took his time and his space as if parting from all those emotions that began to get the better of him. “Anyway. What’s it matter now, right?” A beat, and then his tone ticked up. A deliberate change of topic. “Hey, did Nick tell you he made a move on me?”

Sitting upright in bed in no time, Miles gaped into the lonely room. “He did what?!”

“Crawled into bed with me. Not kidding! Put his head on my stomach, ran his fingers over me, a—”

“Were you shirtless?”

“Miles!” taunted Alex, teasing, grinning so hard Miles could literally hear it. “None of your business.”

“You’re fucking with me. I know you are. Nick is married. He’s your friend. Your _bassist_! He wouldn’t do that!” _Cut it out, will ya?_ he admonished himself. _You sound like a jealous lover!_

Gone was that heaviness from Alex’s tone. In its place now surged humor and glee. Laughter filled the line. “I fucking swear on my _Steinway_ , Mi. He was in my bed and cuddled up to me. Relax, though. He was messin’ with me. Nothin’ happened.”

“Ha, ha,” grumbled Miles. Who cared if anything happened or why? Nick had put his head on Alex’s stomach. He’d smelled him. Touched him. Felt him. Sensed him. Ran his fingers over him. He’d been close to him! And Miles? He was fucking stuck in Amsterdam, far removed from Alex’s bed, eternities away from some good, ol’ fashioned snuggling, and about as unsatisfied about it as one could be!

“What’s going on?” asked Alex with traces of concern. “You sound glum.”

“Just very, very busy, lately. A day off would be nice.” A day in Paris, with Alex. “I miss you. I say that in a very platonic, friendship-kind of way.” The world’s biggest lie. It was anything but that. Especially now, that Alex was single. Available. Alone...

Whining silently, lips drawn into a mighty pout, Miles pummeled the comforter in to surrender and wiggled back into his bed. 

“I miss you, too,” said Alex. “Cheers to hopefully seeing you again soon!”

“Great. Drink wine without me!”

“Order wine. You’re at a hotel. That’s what room service is for!” 

“Already in bed,” Miles reminded him. 

“When has that ever stopped you?”

Well, true. “Ugh. No. Wouldn’t know what to order anyway. Be drunk for both of us. Tell me a joke. Make me smile.”

“You know I suck at jokes.”

“Do it.”

Alex grumbled. “Here goes. I warned you! Why does the turtle cross the road?”

Miles’ mouth shot into a wide curve. “Don’t know.”

“To get to the shell station!”

And just like that, he was laughing. “Good one. Do another!” 

“Mi,” bemoaned Alex, “they aren’t funny!”

“They are!”

“How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?”

“Don’t know.”

“Ten tickles.”

He laughed again.

As did Alex. “You’re such a freak. They’re really dumb jokes.”

“They’re the best jokes in the world when you tell ‘em,” stated Miles, meaning every word of it. “You’re great!”

“I could be cheddar.” 

The force of his smile rivaled the might of the sun. 

_I love you_ , he thought, wistful and blue. 

**#Cologne**

**#Two days later**

The small store was filled to the last spot. Miles stood in the roped-off area by the counter, placing his guitar away. So many people had shown up to hear him play a few tunes and maybe take a picture with him or collect a signature. He’d known, of course, that it’d be a sold-out event. The organizers had giddily informed him ahead of his arrival. Yet, seeing all these people show up just for him was still something startling. After all, nobody else was here. No bigger act, no other act. No second attraction.

 _‘Full house!’_ read the text that Alex sent him just then. _‘Looking at pictures on instaglow.’_

He coughed, to mask his laugh. _‘You’re cyberstalking me?’_ he texted back.

_‘Maybe? Enjoy it! Call later.’_

He put his phone away, beaming brighter now that he knew Alex was nearby, somehow, despite being so far away.

“Can we ‘gram it?’ asked the first in a long line of waiting attendees.

With a smile and a nod, he got to work.

An hour, some great moments, and a few chats later, he sat in the backroom, enjoying a quieter atmosphere with some invited guests and the organizers. His manager Tina was there, talking up a storm with one of the brand managers, discussing further collaborations. He grinned to himself. Always networking, that one.

“Are you releasing a new album this year,” asked a small voice next to him.

He looked there and met the wide eyes of a young woman, around twenty, looking awfully shy now that she had his attention. Miles responded with a sunny, “Hope so!” Feeling a bit bad for her, he tried to appear as easy-going as possible, recalling his own overwhelmed mind and fluttering stomach back when he was having his first encounters with ‘famous’ people. “I’m recording between gigs and writing a bit. Not sure I’m all that happy ‘bout it, though.”

“About recording it,” she wondered, curious and interested.

“About the way it sounds. I’ve been stuck with just my guitar on the road, but it’s nice, you know? Toned down and less produced, hearing the songs without all those fancy gimmicks? Maybe I’ll rerecord a few. Take away some of the fireworks.”

She nodded at that. “Those are my favorite ones, too. When it’s just the song on its own. That’s when the lyrics can shine.”

“My lyrics aren’t usually the shiniest parts of my music,” he admitted openly. “I’m much better at melodies and riffs.”

“Yours are some of my favorite lyrics,” she disagreed.

“Thank you,” he told her, genuinely delighted about her compliment. “What other music do you like?”

“Oh, bit of everything, I guess. I’m into eighties and nineties. Mostly German songs. But we have some nice ones. Doesn’t always need to be English.”

Miles chuckled. “True, that. Friend of mine loves French songs. He thinks he speaks the language with flawless skill, but he doesn’t.” Lips quirked into a grin remembering Alex make a fiasco out of a simple pizza order. “Should hear him sing along sometimes. It’s bloody adorable. Hey, will you share your playlist with me? I’m always interested in hearing new things. Or old things, in this case!”

“Sure. You got Spotify, right?”

“Do.”

*

“This is the third time I’m calling. You rejected the first two. What’s going on?” pushed Alex, later that night, after Miles at long last picked up. “You’re fed up with me? Wouldn’t know why. I’ve been on my best behavior in the last few days. I didn’t inquire about your tattoo a single time, even though it never leaves my mind. Drives me nuts, you know? Of course, you know. We’ve been friends for a decade. More! You know exactly how my mind works. How hung up it gets when it wraps around a new piece of information and can’t gather all there is to it.”

Miles rolled his eyes as Alex rambled on. At some point the guy had to get that he wouldn’t receive his picture, right?

“Miiii-leeeeeees? Helloooo?”

A sigh slipped from his throat as he pushed the speaker button. “Give me a sec.”

“I’m a busy person!” Impatience stepped up to the mic. “I could be doing other things right now.”

“At…” He checked the time. “One-thirty at night? You could be sleeping right now. There’s an idea.”

“Am I bothering you?” The mere idea of it seemed to confound him.

“Bothering is a strong word…”

“Miles!”

“A sec, damnit! Trying with this website.”

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Translating.” Or attempting to, that was. The playlist he’d gotten from the woman had hit his ears and instantly left an impression. He liked the old guitar riffs he’d heard in those songs from artists like _Pur_ , _Peter Maffay,_ and other bands he could hardly pronounce out loud. But one song had captured a special place inside his music-loving heart and clutched all of his attention with an iron fist. The tune was fast and wild and insanely catchy. The lyrics, judging by the way the words were sung, matched it well. Incredibly so. But he understood none of it and it frustrated the shit out of him! Damned German language!

Fingers froze over the keys of his laptop. “Alex?” His tone got kinder as he recalled Alex’s talents. It got sugary. “Aaaaly…?”

“Oh, suddenly you want something, huh?” Alex was pouty. Miles ground his jaw. “Well, lucky you, I’m bored. What can I serve you with? Wisdom? Advice?”

“German.”

“What?”

“You speak it, don’t you?”

“Uh…some words.”

“Translate this for me,” he said, wet his lips, and cleared his throat. “ _Du bist mein Reim auf Schmerz._ ”

“Er…”

Miles frowned. “Did I pronounce it right?” Seemed unlikely. “Shall I say it again? I tried these online translators, but I doubt they got it right. Doesn’t sound proper. What’s it mean?”

Alex muttered a confession. “I don’t actually speak German.”

“You spoke it when we played here.”

“I…listen, I might have made it sound like I’m fluent or something but—”

Shoulders fell. “You don’t speak it? Your mom does. You said you—”

“Hey,” barged Alex in, “it’s a very complicated language. I speak French! Try that before you come at me for my lack of linguistic versatility!”

“Linguistic versa-what? Just admit it: you can’t translate it.”

“I’ll translate it for you tomorrow.”

He snorted. “So you can secretly call your mom and have her do the job for you? Thanks, I’ll call her myself.” He caught his lip between his teeth. “She still up or—”

“Mi!”

He relented with reluctance. “Fine, I’ll wait ’til tomorrow.”

“The song got to you, huh?”

“Yep. Met this woman. She shared her playlist with me. It’s a treasure trove of eighties and nineties songs. Totally love the sound of it. Very different from what I usually hear. She told me a bunch of other bands to listen to. Been doing it all night. Sorry for the missed calls,” he quickly threw in. “Was sorting out my playlists. I’d have called you back, swear!”

“’tis fine,” chuckled Alex. “Really. Send me the list. Got me curious!” His tone dropped a notch. “So…you met a woman?”

His eyes shot from the laptop to the phone lying next to it. “Yes?”

“Uh…if she shared her playlist with you…seems you got along well?”

“Yeees?” Song and laptop were forgotten, now.

“ _How_ well,” reiterated Alex, “did you get along?”

His jaw ticked. “You were the one who said we wouldn’t talk about that.”

There was a shift in the call. In Alex’s mood, too, and his retort was clipped. “ _That_ well, then.”

“Alex!”

“No, no,” said his friend, cutting him off. “All’s good. It’s late an—”

“Don’t you fucking dare hang up right now!”

“Mi—”

“I’m serious,” warned Miles.

“What do you want me to say,” hissed Alex angrily.

“Start by explaining to me which part of me telling you I met a woman triggered your fucking jealousy?”

“The part,” Alex tossed back, “where you didn’t deny your interest in her!”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes!”

He flung his arms up in exasperation. While he did, a headache landed with a sharp pang. Alex was the only person in the world who could start one with just a single word. “Fucking try again and make sense this time!”

“I asked you if you got along—”

“And we did!”

“Yes,” snarled Alex. “My fucking point!”

Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Miles tried again. “We _got along_. That’s a bloody far cry from _we fucked_! I met somebody and I talked with her. We discussed music. She covers songs. She won a contest on the radio and that’s how she got her VIP ticket for the event. What the fuck is your problem? I mean, regardless of it, she’s a woman!”

“So?”

He scoffed. “Alex, I’m gay.”

“What?!”

His head fell as he shook it. “We had sex so bloody often I lost count. I sucked your cock and let you fuck my ass.” It was late, he was tired, and beyond caring for sociably accepted speech. “I’m gay. I’m into dick.”

“Oh.”

Judging from Alex’s reaction he might as well have told him he was from Jupiter! “Why,” droned Miles, “do you sound so damned surprised?”

“‘cause you got about as many ex-girlfriends as I do!”

“Yes. And if you think about it, with the complicated exception of Hannah, all of ‘em came and left _before_ you.”

“I know all of ‘em!”

“Are you dense on purpose right now?!”

“You have no interest in going on a date with a woman, then?”

Unbelievable! “No, I don’t! That’s the gay part of being gay!”

“Just men, then.”

“You do know what gay means, right?”

“Fucking bear with me,” roared Alex, temper snapping. “It’s kind of a fucking shock to hear you say it, alright?!”

“That I’m gay?” Miles didn’t get it. What did Alex find so bloody irritating about it? “You were there when it happened,” he quipped, hopeful a joke might lighten the mood which had suddenly taken a steep trip into surly waters. “What did you think we were doing the entire time?”

“ _Us_ , Miles. I never put a fucking thought into it! We were _us_ , not explaining anything to anyone, just doing what we wanted! It’s not like we ever discussed it! There was _you_ and _me_ and _nothing else_.”

“There was never a moment,” wondered Miles in earnest, “in which some other bloke caught your eye?”

“No,” assured Alex unequivocally. “I’m not the one who flirted around a—” He cut himself off.

Miles froze, his blood turning cold. For a long-drawn-out, weighted moment he sat in silence, half-hoping Alex would finish the line he so desperately wanted to say, half-wishing he’d just get it over with. But nothing happened. With resignation, he turned the speaker-mode off and brought the phone up to his ear, to treat this moment as what it was, an ear-to-ear, or phone-to-ear one. His tone turned somber and lacked any kinder emotion. “I’m hanging up now. We can discuss this tomorrow or not. At this point, I really don’t care.” He was on the verge of cutting the call, but hesitated, paused. “Do me a favor, will you?” It wasn’t a request, but an order. “I’ll call in the morning. And when I do, I’d like you to tell me how you really feel about me. ‘cause you told me I didn’t do anything wrong and yet— Do that, please. Night.”

He ended it after that, not waiting for anything else from Alex.

Suddenly, he had the strange notion of being back in 2018 all over again.

.

.

**Spoiler Part 16:**

#

“Come on, you stubborn prick! Pick the fuck up!”

A knock on the door interrupted his cursing.

He made quick work of the last of his coffee and got up to let room-service take the barely eaten breakfast away. One eye lingered on the phone in his hand as he typed yet another text. “What’s it gonna take to get you to pick up, huh? A bloody fax?” With a shaking head, he opened the door.

And promptly dropped his phone. “Alex?”

#

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Miles tries to translate is called "Dein Ist Mein Ganzes Herz" by Heinz Rudolf Kunze. It's a good song. Give it a listen. 😉 It'll get a few more mentions in the next part.


	16. Let's Be Giants

**#Alex**

If stupidity had a name, it’d be called _Alex_.

He sat on his bed, cross-legged, staring with one part bewilderment and two parts shock at the phone which was parked on the comforter in front of him and wondered how one person could fuck up a decade-long friendship two times in a row in exactly the same way, using none more than six, maybe seven words. It was a stellar achievement, there was no other way of saying it. Some really impressive, efficient work.

His head dropped and he slapped his forehead. “Fuck!”

He wanted to call Miles back. He wanted to apologize! This time, there was no denying it. No splitting hairs about the percentages of guilt. This time, he could only blame himself. This was his cluster-fuck, signed, sealed, and delivered by his hands, by his lips, by his idiocy.

Alex smacked his forehead again while letting out a rumbling groan. “Argh!”

They’d done so fucking well. They’d joked around. Laughed. Admitted that they missed each other. They’d shared honest talks and expressed regrets about the past. They’d made progress!

Then he’d stepped up to the plate.

A fat snort filled the vast spaces of his empty bedroom.

It was remarkable how dumb a single person could be!

A hand darted out, hovering over the phone. Should he call him? Nah. Better not. Miles wouldn’t pick up. And if he did…well, he’d sounded quite hurt. Not that he could fault him for it. If they talked now, maybe Miles would say something he didn’t mean and maybe Alex would get it the wrong way and then? Then they’d be off to another fifteen months of silence.

They hadn’t even recovered from the last round.

They’d never survive the next.

He blew out a breath and dropped back into the pillow, but not before glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside table. Two o’clock at night. And not a sandman in sight…

It was decided, then. Forgoing sleep, knowing with certainty it wouldn’t come to him tonight at any rate, Alex sat back up, grabbed his phone, and fiddled with this strange thing called G _oogle_. What were the words that Miles had said? His garbled German had been awful. But he’d gotten bits of it. _Du_ und _Reim_. There was another word, too. Miles’ tongue had twisted itself around it trying to pronounce it. He’d also mentioned the eighties and the nineties. Stretching his neck, he went to work.

Half an hour later, he was convinced. He’d found the song. An old tune called _Dein Ist Mein Ganzes Herz_ by a guy named _Heinz Rudolf Kunze_. He wasn’t able to find an entire translation of the song. Which, he assumed, was the reason Miles had asked him for his help in the first place. He’d love to give it. However, his skills were limited. He could converse superficially. Recite a few lines he’d learned from his mother long ago. He could understand some of it if he read texts. But translate it? That was something else entirely. That was a tough one. There was a difference in figuring out how to express one’s thought making do with what few words one had at one’s disposal or adequately replace a word with its English counterpart, one which carried the same meaning and weight.

He gave the clock a second glance. It’d be really bad to call his mom now, right? She’d only hang up, too.

Well. Lost to his own devices, Alex got out of bed, grabbed his phone, stopped by the studio on his way to the living room to gather his guitar, and proceeded toward the large shelf by the tv, which carried all his dictionaries and thesauruses. “German, German, German,” he muttered as the finger traveled across the shaded spines of many linguistic works. “Ah.” There it was. An old one, from his mother. Grabbing it, he settled on the couch and began.

Word by word, he substituted the lyrics, exchanging parts and replacing others. He listened to the original version, to get a feel for the melody, then stripped it down and played it on his acoustic, to find ways to fit the new words into their destined slots. By the time he’d finished, the clock struck five. He let out a massive yawn. Tiredness and a sore neck notwithstanding, he was happy with the finished result.

It was only now, that the song was there in front of him, English from top to bottom, not great but coherent and comprehensible, that Alex sought to actually hear it, to make out its meaning. And once he did, the guitar nearly dropped out of his lap.

It fit. It fit his situation with Miles, it described his fears and worries, it caught his concerns almost with perfection, and it was fucking catchy, too. The last part, he’d discerned about two hours ago. It was a sprawling, well-versed tale about the love of two people too scared to fall into it, only to realize what could be if only they did. A tale about two lonely wanderers who longed to come home to each other, no longer afraid to fall victim to a fading romance. A tale about a transformation. About having the guts to risk all and to grow taller and be stronger because of it.

_Yours is my entire heart._

_You are my rhyme to hurt._

_We will be giants, so tall_

_And the world will become too small_

_Where you aren_ _’_ _t, I can_ _’_ _t be_

Wasn’t that the truth?

For the last fifteen months, he’d walked the world as half a person, feeling but never experiencing, tasting but never relishing, seeing but never marveling, existing but never being.

His thoughts wandered back to his call with Miles a few hours ago, to his friend’s birthday a year ago. To his own words. He’d been angry, then, and he still was, to this day. Which wasn’t an easy thing to admit, to anybody, or to himself. Because admitting it entailed the concession that, he, Alex Turner, was a coward at heart. He loved him and Miles didn’t realize it. He’d been right there in front of him the entire time, waiting, and Miles hadn’t bothered to grab him. Instead, his friend had gone and moved on and left him behind to whither in a cage of his own gilding. Miles had lived life as Alex had told him to not by using words but by remaining with Taylor then, and by being with Louise, later. Miles had done what Alex had said.

Why? For fuck’s sake! The damned fool had never in his life done what Alex had wanted him to do. How many times had he asked for a beer and not gotten one? How often had he suggested lyrical alterations that Miles had stubbornly refuted? How bloody often had he snickered and advised Miles to buy this and not that? Fucker had never listened to him, then! Why, for the love of all _Gibsons_ , had he listened this one time?

Why hadn’t Miles looked into Alex’s eyes, why hadn’t he read his thoughts, as had been his fucking job, and why hadn’t he seen that Alex had wanted to be his, instead. Why hadn’t Miles understood that he’d been scared? Why hadn’t Miles been brave enough for the both of them? Why had he gone and…and fucking flirted and lived and loved and enjoyed?

Why had he figured out that he was gay and loved _all_ men when Alex simply loved Miles?

Why hadn’t he ever told Miles?

  
  


“Am I gay?”

Jamie, God knew how many kilometers away, coughed wildly into the phone, at a level so intense and loud that Alex withdrew the device from his ear. “Spit coffee fucking everywhere,” muttered his friend while calming down. “Come again? And speak up, will you? I don’t think I got that right.”

Alex rolled his eyes while covertly sneaking a glance at his surroundings. He pulled the cap further into his face. “M’not alone right now. Can’t speak up. And I gotta hang up any moment, so hurry, will ya? Am I gay?”

“Why,” bit his guitarist, acting just like the rest of the damned world by refusing to do what Alex wanted doing, “are you asking _me_? Shouldn’t you figure that out on your own? Shouldn’t you have figured that out _already_?”

Alex reigned in his temper. “Yes, Jamie, I should. But it’s kinda complicated!” He’d given half an hour of his valuable, strapped time staring into the mirror earlier, wondering if he looked _gay_. Not that he had any ideas what possible visible markers he’d been supposed to discern. At one point he’d recalled a comment one of his ex-girlfriends had made, which was that gay men tended to look _put together_ at even the worst moments. He’d been wearing a stained tee and two days of beard growth. If _looking put together_ was a scale to go by he’d probably come in at _straight as a couch-potato_. How did one figure out if one was gay? It couldn’t all be about sex. That seemed discriminatingly superficial. Relationships were more than orgasms. Miles had become irreplaceable in his life long before they’d discovered the joys of doing it like rabbits. “Rest assured,” he told him, “I wouldn’t have asked you, given a choice, but Matt and Nick won’t pick up the fucking phone! Can you be my friend for a moment and just tell me?”

Still not answering what Alex wanted answering, Jamie lectured, “Only a guess, but it’s six-thirty in the morning and some people sleep in! Maybe they didn’t want to pick up the phone just yet.”

What shitty excuse was that? Sleep? One always answered one’s phone. What if one won some contest one forgot one entered? What if Paul McCartney called ‘cause he’d dialed the wrong number? Besides, “You picked up?!”

“Yes,” replied Jamie in a dry manner, sounding like somebody who wished he hadn’t done it. “I’m dumb like that.”

“Cookie,” Alex pressured. Noble and magnanimous that he considered himself to be, he did not address the attitude he’d noted in Jamie’s words, an attitude he thought was entirely uncalled for. “It’s a yes-or-no question.”

His friend heaved a heavy sigh into the phone. “Half-gay?”

“Bi, you mean?” That made sense. He’d slept with a man and many women. He’d experienced romantic feelings for both. More for Miles than for others. Nevertheless, so had Miles! And the bloody fucker had no trouble giving himself a neat little label while Alex could not.

“Nah,” interrupted Jamie Alex's inner frustration, “not classically bi. More like… _Miles-gay_.”

He blinked, even more confused and annoyed because of it. “What does that mean?”

“Until I actually see you snogging a guy who isn’t Miles, I can’t make that judgment.”

For a second, Alex forgot his dilemma as Jamie’s remark put a smirk on his lips. “I’m a Miles-sexual, then.”

“Are you drunk?”

His humor vanished. “You know, people keep asking me that and it’s starting to concern me. Apparently, I come across as some persistently drunk lunatic and I’d really like to know why!”

“Probably—”

He cut him off. “Not now, Cookie. We’re talking _gay_. So…should I go and kiss a guy and see if that does something for me?” He gave the idea a moment’s worth of consideration. Unless the guy looked and smelled and tasted like Miles, Alex had no interest in that. Then again, he’d no interest in kissing a woman, either. Which made it a dead end. “That won’t fly. I saw your ass in the locker room once and thought it looked sexy. Does that count?”

“For the sake of our friendship,” declared Jamie, putting the warning he’d coated the words with front and center, “and the future of our band, I’ll just assume you’re bloody wasted and high as a fucking kite. I dare you to stare at my ass again, not kidding! I’ll send my wife if I have to!” He took a slow breath. “Yes, dickhead, that counts. To be fair, I got a nice ass. Can hardly blame you for staring.”

A quick mental comparison and Alex squinted. “Miles’ looks better. Peachier.”

“Why,” begged Jamie to know, “are we having this fucked-up conversation?”

“Reasons,” Alex brushed him off. Eyes landed on the large display hanging above him and he winced. “Shit, I gotta go. Final result, I’m sorta bi?”

“Sorta, yes,” yielded his friend. “Let’s go with that. Where are you?”

“Somewhere.”

“Ale—”

“Bye, Cookie!”

**#Miles**

The hotel had gone the extra mile and included the latest edition of _The Guardian_ when delivering his breakfast. He sat at the small table near the sliding glass doors to his balcony, coffee in hand, skimming over the latest Brexit development, yet hardly paying it any interest. His mind was still stuck on last night’s conversation with Alex and its unfortunate ending. He shouldn’t have hung up. He should have given him a chance to explain it, but at that moment, it had hurt so bloody much. It had been a shot through his scarcely healed heart, tearing apart the ragged wound and making the hole sting worse than before.

Still.

No doubt, Alex felt bad about it. He knew him. His friend never set out to say bad things. Sometimes, he just tumbled into them, by accident. Miles really liked to know why he kept tumbling into this bad thing over and over again. Did Alex honestly believe that he’d gone and gallivanted through his nights after he’d gotten his heart broken? He hadn’t flirted around. He’d been desperate in his attempts at distracting himself from thinking ‘bout Alex and his bird the entire time. And he hadn’t gone and experimented and whatever else his friend believed he’d done to figure out he was gay. He’d figured it out when he’d kissed Alex and all other lips suddenly ceased to hold any appeal to him. He’d figured it out when Alex and he had made love and his world had come out brighter and shinier after each time they’d done it. He’d figured it out when he’d zapped through his telly one night, landed on a porn film, and discovered that he no longer cared for the female participant but found her male counterpart had a haircut similar to that of Alex and he’d gotten lost in a bit of a fantasy after that. He’d figured it out when he’d dreamt of Alex and his strong chest, his bulky arms, his hairy legs, his stubbly chin, his defined jaw, his magnificent ass, his firm hands, and his deep voice.

He’d figured it out when he’d tried to get over Alex and had gotten into bed with that bartender.

He’d figured it out when he’d realized that he loved Alex. Heart and soul.

Miles reached for his phone again. Dialed the number again. The third call this morning. Damn Alex for not picking up! Where the hell was he? He’d tried his phone in Paris, he’d tried his cell, he’d texted him, he’d fucking emailed him. He was on the verge of sending a singing telegram! “Come on, you stubborn prick! Pick the fuck up!”

A knock on the door interrupted his cursing.

He made quick work of the last of his coffee and got up to let room-service take the barely eaten breakfast away. One eye lingered on the phone in his hand as he typed yet another text. “What’s it gonna take to get you to pick up, huh? A bloody fax?” With a shaking head he opened the door.

And promptly dropped his jaw. “Alex?” He stared in shock. “How…what…you’re supposed to be in Paris.”

“Quick flight to Frankfurt, bit of a cab ride, here I am.”

“In Cologne,” awed Miles.

He shrugged a small one.

“Here,” Miles repeated, still gaping. “In Germany. You took a flight and—”

“Yep.”

“But…” His mind was blown. “Why?”

“‘cause of last night.” Alex shouldered his bag, having come with no other luggage, and stepped into his room, past Miles’ stunned eyes which crawled after him like a shadow.

“You came all the way from Paris? Are you fucking nuts? You jumped on a plane and—” The last of his words died a silent death when Alex dropped the bag by the door, to face Miles.

“I’m here to do what I should have done last year.”

Because he did not know how to handle this moment which had arrived out of fucking nowhere and left him without a clue ‘bout what to do, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “A city trip?”

In the midst of shrugging out of his jacket, Alex paused to make room for a quick glare. “Are you making fun of me?”

Miles reclined against the wall, driving both hands through his hair, as if detangling the strands would magically sort out his thoughts as well. “Not…no. I’m sorry, Al. Just…you came all the way here from fucking Paris! I’ve been calling you all morning and you didn’t pick up and I thought you were mad at me or something. Like, after last night…”

“Which is exactly why I’m here,” explained Alex, by now done taking off his jacket. In a typically Alex move, he flung it away, missed the couch it was intended to land on by a foot, and didn’t give a fig when it hit the floor instead. “Phones are not suitable for profound conversations. A lot of my feelings and deeper meanings, I express with my eyes.” To emphasize that, he quirked his brows pointedly. “If you can’t see ‘em, you don’t know how to interpret my words correctly. And that leads to moments like last night. It could have been easily avoided, this silly fight of ours, if you’d seen my face.”

“Could it?” Miles questioned, walking away from the wall to pick up his jacket and to bring some badly needed space between them. His brain couldn’t function properly as long as Alex was in smelling distance. “In my recollection, you accused me of flirting around and I don’t see how a pair of wiggling eyebrows could have made a difference.”

“What are you doing?”

Mid-bend, Miles stopped. “Picking up—”

“ _My_ jacket,” finished Alex who for some to Miles unfathomable reason appeared vexed about it.

He grabbed it nonetheless. Carelessly tossed it over the back of the couch. “Yes.”

Alex was staring, now. “Why?”

“I should have ordered a second coffee. Or valium,” mumbled Miles before giving into this inane discussion. “You dropped it on the floor and—.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to pick it up!”

“I wanted to pick it up ‘cause it’s _on the floor_.”

“Who cares?”

The fact that he’d picked it up should have made that obvious. “I,” supplied Miles, “do.”

“But—”

He threw his head back. “Did you really come all the way from Paris to start an argument about your fucking jacket?”

“No,” Alex replied after a terse and silent second and took over Miles’ forgone spot against the wall. “I’m nervous. I feel like an idiot for coming here.”

“’cause I picked up your jacket?” asked Miles, all of sudden at a loss.

“Can we stop talking about the bloody jacket?”

“Then tell me why you’re nervous.” He didn’t like that Alex was. This wasn’t the kind of sentiment they were supposed to feel around or because of each other. Nervousness implied unease and a lingering inclination to run away, maybe hide, or vanish altogether. “Have I said or done something?” Leaning with his butt against the couch, he directed all his attention at Alex. What had been irritation in his tone before now was apprehension. Worry. Dread. “Am I making you feel uncomfortable?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” tossed Alex back, self-consciously rolling his shoulders. “I can do that all on my own. Feels like last night we had the dumbest of fights which wasn’t even a fight ‘cause you hung up before it could become one. Suppose I should thank you for that.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “I’m a mess right now. There’s a ton of shit that I’m trying to figure out and I just don’t know how to do it.”

“Like what? Maybe I can help.”

His head lowered as his features which used to be lively and sparkly, became glum and burdened. From deep beneath half-closed lids, Alex snuck a glance his way. “Do I look gay to you?”

Miles’ eyes turned wide in an instant. “Do you…” And then it happened. Slowly at first, but undeniably. His shoulders heaved, his face twitched, he bit his lips to control, maybe stop it, but in the end, it was a lost cause and he succumbed to it from head to toe. Loud, roaring laughter burst from him. It was a horrible reaction. There was his friend, posing a genuine question, hoping for an honest response, and here was he, wheezing like a maniac.

“That a yes or a no laugh,” bit Alex.

“I’m soooo sorry,” swore Miles between counter-productive giggles. “It’s just…” More laughter.

Alex groaned. “Oh, I can hear that.”

“Al, really. I’m sorry.” He managed to quiet his chuckles down. “I had this sudden visual in my head, you know? Like, what’s a gay man supposed to look like and then I saw your face, covered from hair to chin with glittery rainbow stickers.” Sinking his teeth into his tongue to not lose it again, Miles shrugged. “’m silly like that.”

“It’d be fucking awesome if that happened,” groveled Alex, pushing away from the wall to pace the space between him and Miles. “You wake up one day, you look in the mirror and there are all those little sparkly rainbows on your face. You can look at it and can state with absolute certainty, ‘there’s the proof I needed. I’m gay. Let’s find a man.’ But instead, you’re left on your own. I looked into the mirror and I saw fucking nothing. I look exactly like I looked five years ago. Maybe not exactly, I’ve aged a bit. Just slightly. In a good way. The point remains. Between then and now, I’ve had sex with you and it changed fucking nothing!”

At the last part, Miles snorted.

Alex glowered. “What’s with the side-show commentary?”

A slow grin bloomed on Miles’ cheeks as he crossed his arms. “You had a point, you know? Seeing your brows does make a difference. It changed nothing?” It was his turn to direct a pointed expression his friend’s way. “I’d say it changed a lot.”

“What, though,” lamented Alex.

Feelings? Friendships? Lives? “You’re going at it the wrong way.” He strode over to the table and grabbed one of the croissants he hadn’t eaten, dipped one end into the strawberry jam, then handed it to Alex, whose limited reaction was a blank face. “Eat it,” said Miles. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“Uh…yesterday.”

“Eat it.”

“I don’t like strawberry jam.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t like it on croissants,” Alex specified.

“It’s gay, you know?”

Eyes flew to the croissant. “The pastry?”

It was in these moments where it was especially hard not to blurt ‘I love you’. “You like the jam, which is the sex, and you like the pastry, which is your friend, me in this case, and one day you figure out that you enjoy having both at the same time. Don’t make it more complicated than it is, Al. It’s not exclusive or roped-off. There’s no gay shelf at Ikea, where you can buy gay-colored paraphernalia to decorate your sexual-orientation box with. You said we were doing _us_ , that we were just _us_. What happened to that?”

“You,” countered Alex, by that vanquishing the soft smile from Miles’ face. “You told me you’re gay. You told me that being with me changed you and I don’t know why it didn’t change me. Being _us_ …” On a sharp exhale, Alex turned away. “It made you brave. It made you fearless. And it made you see that I’m none of that.”

Miles tossed the croissant onto the nearby table, not giving a damn that the jam was staining the pristine white surface. His heart ached for the man three feet away and even though it might not have been much distance, it felt like an endless divide and he killed it in one long stride, grabbing Alex’s hand with his own, wasting no time entwining their fingers. Where he moved with a clear aim, Alex startled and tried pulling away. “Did it never occur to you,” spoke Miles thickly, determined to keep his hold on his hand, “that _you_ made me brave?”

Alex stopped pulling away, much like he did doing anything else for that matter. He merely stared with wide-eyed wonder as if the words he’d just heard had toppled him over.

Not letting go of his eyes, Miles took steadying breaths. They were holding hands. He’d reached for it to assure him, to calm his friend, but he hadn’t expected that this bit of physical connection would roll over his entire being like a fucking avalanche. Acutely aware of him now, even in places he’d long considered dead, he marveled inwardly at the absurdity of it all. Years removed from their affair, he still craved him with an urgency that was staggering. He loved him. Insanely. Right this second, he was telling him what an inspiring, illuminating person he was, one somebody, in conclusion, couldn’t help but fall in love with. And yet, he said all of this to be and to remain his friend. Just his friend. “You’re the one who taught me that you go after what you want. You’re the one who showed me that even in the face of crushing guilt and horrible consequences happiness lives.”

Alex tilted his head to take in their joined hands and he gave Miles’ a squeeze. “I don’t know yet,” whispered his friend, shy and quiet, “what type of pastry I like my jam with.” One side of his mouth rose. “I just know that I really enjoyed the croissant I once had. That was a good one.”

“From a selfish point of view,” smirked Miles, “that’s all that matters to me.” He leaned forward a tad, to coax a broader smile from those hesitant lips. “Who could ask for more than to be Alex Turner’s favorite croissant.”

“I didn’t say favorite,” teased Alex and then, just like that, there it was. That smile. That golden, honeyed smile that always spiked temperatures in any room it appeared in. It was a rare one and not everyone got lucky enough to encounter it. But Miles had gotten lucky a few times and even though he knew it and had experienced its magical power before, it was a new sensation each time. Sometimes, it was a caress, sometimes, it was a quip, sometimes, it was a bloody firework. Every time, it stopped his heart and left him a little dizzy. This time, it was eating your favorite ice cream with extra sprinkles and sitting right behind the opposing team’s goal while your team scored a penalty shot during the Champion’s League finale.

It was that good a smile.

“Last night…”

“It’s oka—”

“No,” barged Alex, cutting him off. “I have to say this. I’m sorry. I meant what I said weeks ago. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Why say it, then?” asked Miles.

Alex took in a quivery breath. “Would you believe me when I tell you I almost have the answer? Like it’s right there, on the tip of my tongue, I just need a little while longer to understand it? I swear, Miles. This is my issue. Not your fault.”

“I won’t stop being your friend if you tell me something you think I won’t like. You can be honest with me. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“No matter what.” His thumb moved over Alex’s knuckles, back and forth. Lightly at first. Until he became aware of it. When he sat out to stop it, his thumb did the opposite.

Alex tore his hand away. Gulped. “We should do something. A friends-thing. Like, sight-seeing or shit like that.”

_Why doesn_ _’_ _t he tell me that he_ _’_ _s single?_ a small and sad voice wondered in the back of Miles’ mind as he nodded at Alex’s suggestion.

“You got time, right?”

“Me? I’m free all day.” Tonight, he’d depart for a quick trip to Berlin but until then? “All yours. What about you, though? Shouldn’t you prepare to fly to LA or something?”

“Leaving the day after tomorrow. Nothing planned between then and now. I haven’t even booked my return flight to Paris,” he admitted with a chuckle. “It’s been all very last minute this morning.” His hand carefully wrapped around the sticky pastry on the table. “Decided I needed to have a personal chat with you and off I was.”

“Just hopped onto a plane and…”

“Here I am.” He took a bite, then another. “Fank Gof foh flanes!”

“Fank Gof,” mimicked Miles, laughing. Grabbing phone, wallet and shades, he was ready to go. “Shall we?”

Swallowing his mouthful with a loud gulp, he volleyed back a jaw-drop. “I need to change first!”

“’scuse me?” snorted Miles. “What plans you got in mind? The opera?”

Alex huffed as if the mere suggestion was worthy of outrage. “I traveled by plane, Mi. It’s summer. I wore a jacket. I’m sweaty. I stink.”

Leaning forward, taking a sniff, Miles rolled his eyes. “You don’t.” He smelled distinctively good, like a great cuddle on the couch or a wonderful nap on a lazy afternoon. He smelled very huggable.

“Earth to Mileeeees! Will you just let me use your bloody bathroom for a moment? And where’s your stuff? I need a shirt.”

“My shirts? You didn’t bring any?”

“What part of last-minute didn’t you hear?”

Miles stared after him as Alex ventured to the breakfast tray from which he filched the second croissant and proceeded to dip it into the jam.

“Mmh, ‘tis really good. Ooh, you got butter, too?” Teeth drilled into his lower lip as if to ponder his next move. “Oh, screw it.” Biting the last of the jam-coated end off, he swiped the pastry over the butter, took a bite, and purred. “I really need to do some grocery shopping when I get back! So, shirts?”

“Huh?” Miles was still lost in a naughty, altogether inappropriate fantasy which had grown from a simple hug into sticky sex with Alex and strawberry jam in a flash. “Bed. Bedroom,” he quickly corrected. “Take whatever…” How surreal this morning had become!

*

“Will you stop it?” hissed Alex, next to Miles, skimming through stacks of Cohen records. “You said to take whatever. I took whatever. This burning holes with your eyes thing is not doing you any favors. You’re the one ending with the wrinkles!”

Miles immediately relaxed his face. “Take whatever didn’t imply take my favorite shirt.”

“Take whatever implied take what-fucking-ever! Also, it’s not like you and I actually spent that much time together in recent months, years if you want to get technical. How am I supposed to know what your favorite shirt is?”

“I don’t know,” drawled Miles while sideswiping him with yet another glower, “but me telling you, whilst you were tearing into my suitcase, that _‘_ _this is my favorite shirt_ _’_ could have _maybe_ been a clue.”

Looking down at himself, Alex dabbed the fabric of the dark blue short-sleeved button-up shirt. “You got good taste. Feels very comfortable, too.”

“Silk has that quality,” he mumbled with a pout. He wasn’t opposed to Alex wearing his stuff. They’d shared endless amounts of shirts and whatnot. But he loved this one and he’d never even worn it himself and now it’d forever smell like him. How was he supposed to put it on and not think of how damn fine it looked on his very platonic, very sexy friend in the future?

A hot hand wrapped around his bare arm. “Check this out, Mi! I don’t think I owe this one yet!”

Ignoring that searing touch which pulled hard on thin-stretched nerves, especially underneath this sweltering sun that cast the outside and even the inside in a constant and unavoidable layer of heat, Miles did check out what Alex was holding. And chortled. “A Cohen record you don’t yet own? Stop the presses!”

Alex stuck out his tongue.

“Heilige Scheiße, die sind’s wirklich!“

Miles and Alex jumped apart at the screeched German tossed their way. “What did she say?” muttered Miles while displaying a friendly, pleasant mien.

“Beats me,” hissed Alex, “I think she cursed us.”

Finding himself face to face with a wide-grinning teenage girl, he smiled politely in return. “Hi.”

“Ich fass es nich’, Miles Kane und Alex Turner sind in Köln? Wie geil ist das denn!”

He’d really like to know what she’d just said. “You speak English?”

The girl’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Scheiße! Yes, tu’ ich! Er, yes, I do! So is this…uh…are _The Last Shadow Puppets_ back? Total fan!”

Next to him, Alex rubbed his hands. _Oh no._ Miles winced inwardly. Hard. That face. That glimmer in his eyes. Alex stepped forward with an enthusiastic smile. “Oh,” he heralded with theatric gesticulation, “ _The Last Shadow Puppets_ are _always_ around, drawing strings in the shadows of all things. But that’s a secret. Can you keep it?” He winked.

The teen blushed crimson.

Miles groaned silently. “We’re sight-seeing,” he interjected whilst nudging his elbow into Alex’s side. “Tourists.”

“On the eternal trail of spiritual and musical enlightenment,” added Alex with a flourish, forever enjoying the befuddled faces of those he messed around with. He caught Miles off-guard when he turned the tables and curled his arm tightly around his middle to tie him against his body. “Know any secret places where two musicians on the hunt for inspiration might find some?”

After a beat, she shrugged. “Guy around the corner sells weed.”

Alex blinked.

Miles, multitasking, laughed before hastily adding, “That’s not what he meant.” During all of this, he squirmed surreptitiously to get away from him. An arm slapped his. He tossed a swift glare, then smiled at the girl again. “Nice meeting you. We have to leave, now.”

“Wait, how ‘bout a ‘gram?”

“Sure.”

Next to him, Alex leaned in. “Suddenly you do wanna buy?”

No, suddenly he wanted to dissolve. Into Alex’s arms. He wanted to crawl into him. He wanted to bathe in him. Lick him, kiss him, snort him, fuck him. Alex’s hot breath crashing against Miles’ ear was nearly enough to bring him to his knees and unless he could get some fucking space and an ice-cold water – or an ice-cold shower – he’d risk melting. Or worse.

“Smile for the camera,” he hissed back.

Once the fan was gone, Miles all but jumped away to catch his breath. And his sanity. “Let’s find a place to cool down.”

“Remember the last time we were here? We went to this little café. They had the best milkshakes there!”

Something cold. He was sold. “Sure.” But what was the name of the place? “Uh…is it nearby, though?”

“Across the cathedral.”

Miles recalled, then. And snickered. “Next to the Louis Vuitton store. We forgot that Hannah and Taylor went there and we—”

Alex laughed. “We went to the cathedral to check out the organs and took a cab to the hotel afterward.”

“Hannah was pissed that night.”

“So was Taylor.”

They’d had so much fun in the cathedral that day, giggling when one of the tour guides who’d tried explaining the instrument messed it up by not knowing what the pedal was for and Alex had stepped in and given an impromptu lecture without anybody realizing who he was and why the guy standing next to him was grinning the entire time.

What a day they’d had.

What a summer they’d had.

Pulling his shades from the small pocket of the shirt, Alex put 'em on and cocked his head. “May I take you out for a shake of ice and milk?” He extended his hand.

Miles sidestepped that tempting hand and ruffled his hair instead. “There’s an offer I can’t refuse!”

Before he had a chance to bring some distance between them, Alex hooked his arm around Miles’ and beamed, “Perfect.”

“My gate is that way,” said Miles and nodded to his left. He shouldered his bag, then his guitar, and knew that the smile on his face was far from cheery. It was sad at best.

So was Alex’s. “My gate is the other way.” He’d gotten a last-minute return flight to Paris around the same time that Miles was scheduled to fly out to Berlin.

“Time to say goodbye, huh?”

“We gotta stop doing that.”

“Saying goodbye?” He’d love to stay or come to Paris with him.

“We have to find a way to spend more than a few hours together. I thought about this, Mi. Do you know how long it’s been since you and I did more than a few words here and there? Three years. Almost. It was our tour!

He knew! “I know!” It sucked! “I don’t know how to fix it. You’re busy, I’m busy.”

“Let’s just…figure something out, alright?” Alex gave his smile a bit more energy. “Take care. Safe flight. All that. I’ll call in the morning. And I’ll see you in…”

Chuckling, Miles nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see you then, too.” Who knew when!

Wrapping both arms around him, not caring for the guitar or the bag, or the many travelers who may or may not recognize them, Alex squeezed Miles into a mighty hug.

Unable to escape it, unwilling, either, Miles buried his face into Alex’s shoulder and breathed in deeply. One for the road, he told himself. One sniff to keep him going. One small kiss to the cheek to get through the flight. Lips went there, lingered, luxuriated in the tingles that spread everywhere.

Shifting, Alex brought his mouth to his temple and gave it a peck. The kind that was only innocent because it was lips-to-skin and not lips-to-lips. “Bye, Mi.”

“Bye,” whispered Miles and let go reluctantly. And then he grabbed his suitcase, spun around, and all but stormed off because if he stayed just another bloody second, he’d lose himself and fucking kiss him for real!

*

**#Alex**

**#Paris, Two Days Later**

“No, no,” interrupted Jamie, stern and lacking any sort of patience, “rewind! You call me at six in the morning—”

“Six-thirty.”

A beat. “At _six-thirty_ in the morning, from the airport, as I now know, to ask if you’re gay, then you board a plane to Frankfurt, take a two-hour trip by cab, arrive late in the morning at Miles’ and you two spent the rest of the day going bloody sight-seeing?”

Moving the pan back and forth, watching with care to keep the butter from getting too hot, he shrugged inside his empty kitchen. “Yep. Not just sight-seeing. Bought a bunch of records, stole Miles’ favorite shirt, and got hooked on croissants. That last part is weird, don’t you agree? Think ‘bout it, I live in Paris, city of pastries, and it takes a trip to Cologne to discover my love for ‘em.” Fuck, ouch!” Definitely too hot! “Damned thing.”

Jamie skipped over Alex’s painful encounter with the sizzling butter and agreed. “Yes, very weird. But,” burst the irritated guitarist, “not nearly as fucking weird as you jetting to Miles for some fucking sight-seeing! Rewind again. There has to be a part of the story I’m missing.”

Alex whined. “Jamie, I’m making fish sticks. I don’t have time to tell the same tale over and over again.”

“You fucking flew to him and you’re telling me you didn’t have sex?”

He put the pan down to gape at the phone which rested on the sink and was on speaker. “What’s with your sudden interest in my sex life? That’s none of your bloody business.”

“Oh, stop clutching your fucking pearls! You’ve been talking on the phone nonstop for weeks, having deep chats about emotions and feelings and all that rubbish and after _finally_ meeting again, you don’t fuck? Like not even a single fucking kiss?”

“No,” Alex ground out. “Not a single kiss. If you’re so fucking interested, for your information, we’re fucking friends and nothing more!”

For the moment.

He’d used his time during his flight home to have a deep look into the depth of his soul and he’d discovered something interesting things there.

“A goodbye hug at the airport,” he allowed. “And a small side-hug for a fan.”

“A side-hug,” bristled Jamie. “What’s a fucking side-hug? You’re ten or what? Oh, this so frustrating. Like reading _Pride and Prejudice_ and waiting for the sex scene, only to discover after like a thousand pages that there isn’t so much as a fucking kiss!”

“Which part of Miles and I are _friends_ and nothing _but_ friends aren’t you getting?” They’d just gotten back to being friends. They had to traipse very carefully. “Neither one of us wants to ruin that.”

“Ugh,” complained his friend as Alex carried on making dinner, “you’re thinking this over too fucking much. You’re single, Miles is single, bloody do it already!”

Once the fish sticks were inside the pan and happily swimming inside the butter, Alex returned his entire, undivided attention to the call. “Jamie…where’s Katie?”

“Spending some time with her friend. Told you that one of her friends got divorced and is like, sad and desperate, and whatever? She flew to New York to help her. ‘s been gone for three weeks now. Three weeks, two days, and five hours…”

Alex smirked. _That explained it._ “Have you considered doing some jetting on your own? To New York, maybe?”

“Until next week, there’s nobody available to babysit. Unless you want to fly here and—”

“No.”

“I’ll pay for it! They’re easy, the kids. You love ‘em!”

“For ‘bout ten minutes, once a month, yes. Then they’re easy, even a little cute. For a weekend, though? They make noises and they need supervision and they’re chatty and don’t have an off-switch and—”

“Just like you.”

“Exactly.”

At that, Jamie laughed. “When will you see him again?”

“Miles?” Alex’s chipper mood darkened. “Two or three weeks from now? Who knows!”

“Let me know if things change.”

“I’ll immediately update you if my sex-life gets interesting,” snickered Alex. “Have a nice night, say hi to the little monsters, and try phone-sex with your wife. For all of us. Bye, Cookie.” As he cut the call, the water he’d put on reached boiling temperature and he tossed the chopped carrots inside. Next to that, the potatoes were roasting nicely. Then he took a step to the left, inspected the prearranged assortment of herbs and ingredients, and scratched his head.

He reached for the phone again. One hand around it, the other on the spatula, Alex tested and failed in his talents at multitasking. Sizzling butter spritzed from the hot pan, staining his beloved _Scarface_ tee while hurting the skin on the back of his hand. The fish sticks were dying, as they did most times, a slow death, getting darker by the second. Quickly cutting the heat, staining his shirt even more since two hands were not enough for one person to cook and talk on the phone at the same time, Alex could feel his temper getting surly. The carrots were bubbling inside the water, the fish was done, but the tasty sauce that Miles had once made and whose old recipe he’d recently rediscovered whilst decluttering provided the last barrier to a nice meal.

Eyes rolled. “Come on, pick up already!”

“Can you hang on for a sec,” it droned from the phone. “Got my hands full!” 

“So do I,” countered Alex, stressed. How the fuck did people do three things at once? “Hurry up! I’m hungry.”

“Hungry? What do you need me for that? Where are you?”

In front of him, the boiling water turned volatile. Alex ignored Miles’ question. “Hurry!”

“Fucking busy right now,” Miles bit back. There was a loud rustling. Another voice. Rain, or something like that. 

At least he’s suffering under the same shitty weather, thought Alex. The light outside his house went on. The small monitor in the corner of the kitchen sprung to live, announcing that somebody was outside. Shit! Visitors. He grunted. Well, fuck them! He was busy. Whoever was there would have to suffer in the pouring rain for another minute. “Helloooooo, Miiii?” 

His friend snarled back, “cut it out! Just a min! I have to unlock!”

Alex silently cursed. 

“Uh, Al?” Miles’ bothered voice had morphed into a tone soaked with dread. “I think somebody’s breaking into your house!” He whispered, then. “The main lights are on.”

“What?” He jerked up, instantly alarmed. Then it occurred to him that _he_ was inside his house. How the fuck would Miles know if anybody was breaking and entering— The spatula fell from his fingers. “Where are you?”

“Paris,” hissed Miles, anxious. “Just arrived at your place. Are you not listening? The—” His words died off.

Alex sprinted into the foyer, clutching the phone to his ear even though it was no longer necessary. Gliding over the slippery tiles with his socks, skidding to a halt in front of him, he awed, “You’re here!” 

In slow-motioned, stunned and dripping wet, Miles lowered his phone before ending the call. “So are you.”

“Had an important appointment. Pushed my flight to tomorrow,” Alex told him, a bit shaky. Completely unprepared to stand face to face with him right now.

Miles nodded, just as flustered. “Took an earlier flight. Got a dinner tomorrow night.” He’d been scheduled to arrive two days from now. A smile snuck up on his lips, framed by droplets of water that curled along his cheek after gathering in his hair. The smile got smaller. “Er…you’re still here. If you want me to leave…I can…uh…find a hotel or—”

“No!”

“No?”

Shaking his head, Alex repeated himself. “No. Plenty of room. Guest room. ‘tis fine.” He’d be damned if he told Miles to leave after having gone without him for this long. Sure, they’d seen another two days ago, but a few hours of shopping scarcely made up for a year and more of no contact. He was staring, undeniably so, following the raindrops, envying them for their traveled paths. Admiring the way his drenched shirt clung to his body, revealing those marvelous contours that—

“...stained…”

Miles had said something. Alex snapped out of his daze. “Huh?”

“I’m getting your pretty tiles all dirty.” With a cheeky smile, he kicked his boots off and gave ‘em a nudge to the side, toward Alex’s neatly aligned shoes. “All that fine marble.”

Screw the fucking marble. “You need a towel!” Shit, he forgot where he stashed them. The bathroom, right? Where was the bathroom again? He glanced over his shoulder, towards the corridor and the staircase. It had to be somewhere in this house! He’d used it not too long ago!

“You look disoriented,” noted Miles, lips tucked upward.

Alex snapped his gaze back. How beautiful he was. His smile morphed into a slow grin until he heard himself asking, “Can I hug you?” _Smooth, Turner. Real smooth!_

Miles glowed gigawatts his way as his arms stretched wide, filling Alex's heart with sparkling happiness. “Com’ere already!” He took strides forward. 

So did Alex. They met in the middle. Embraced, timidly at first. In less than a minute, though, arms were locked tight. They clung to each other with force and passion, digging in nails and gripping another as close as possible. Nose buried inside the crook of Miles’ shoulder, Alex breathed him in as deeply as he could. He smelled divine, of friendship and tenderness and summer rain and forgiveness and love and everything that Alex had not known he’d yearned after so much up until this very moment. His hands wandered on, from the back of Miles’ shoulders to the sides, all but crushing him against himself. Thumbs rubbed back and forth. Fingers and hands couldn’t rest still. He needed more of him. All that he could get. He’d hungered for him, he’d thirsted for him, and now that he was here, finally, back in his arms, back where he belonged, Alex was overcome by a staggering need to suck as much contact and warmth out of this as he could. The little hug at the airport had been nothing but a drop in the bucket. He had weeks to make up for. A lifetime, rather. A drought which had seemed endless at times. He pressed his face deeper into his skin. It was damp and hot and perfect in every sense of the word.

The crown of Miles’ nose rubbed against the spot beneath Alex’s lobe, which was ticklish and sensitive. It made him shudder. It made him clasp firmer. Grip harder. It made him smile, bright and radiant.

His senses were overloading. His body didn’t know how to handle so much Miles after having been starved of him for too great a period of time. Alex tilted his head to the side, to steal some friction, to gain more. And then, suddenly, just like that, Miles’ ear was in front of him. By his mouth. That pretty lobe that was adorned by that sexy, silver earring. That tiny little creole that was so innocent, so insignificant, yet so staggering in its affect on Alex. The main star of so many of his recent fantasies, especially after he’d seen him with it up close in Cologne. 

His breathing turned ragged. 

As did Miles’.

“Alex,” growled his friend. A warning, no doubt. He must have sensed his intentions. 

Lips parted, the lower one, the naughtier one of this pair of his, ghosted nearer, traipsed closer, got braver, dared to go further, to forbidden places. For Fuck’s sake, where had all his good intentions gone?

“Alex…” warned Miles again. 

One lost on Alex. That aside, Miles still clung to him. He’d yet to let go. And until he did, there was still hope to catch the tiniest of tastes, the sultriest of licks, the—

The fire alarm went off. 

Both men jumped in shock.

“Fuck,” blurted Alex, recalling the chaos he’d left inside the kitchen. Eyes bulged. He spun around and ran back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! My dinner! My potatoes!” 

The place was a mess. The butter had fled the pan and dirtied the entire surface of the herd. The potatoes were burnt, giving the color black a whole new intensity. The stench was intense. Alex’s mope matched the setting. Tearing the window wide open, to get rid of the smoke, he let out a desolate growl. “I was hu-u-ungry-y-y-y!” Stepping up to the crime-scene, he reclaimed the spatula, dabbed the remains of what could have been delicious fried potatoes, and slouched. “There goes that.” He cast his sight to the fish sticks. Well. One or two might yet be edible. Somewhat. 

Miles, who’d been so kind to kill the fire alarm, came up behind him, spreading optimism as always. “You can still eat that.” One hand settled against Alex’s hip, startling him that much that Alex yelped. Audibly. Miles was undeterred and sidled closer. What was he doing? A slow-traveling shiver roamed along his spine. Eyes fluttered. A husky rasp fanned against his ear. “Just a bit of crisp. It’s not even black, just dark brown. We’ll save that in no time.” 

_Save it?_ How on earth could Miles concentrate on some fucked up food right now? Didn’t he catch that he was rocking Alex’s entire world by standing this close? A moan was on the loose before Alex could catch it. “Mi...”

“We’ll add some herbs to counter the charred taste. Oh,” gushed his friend, motivated, giving his breathy voice a deathly eroticism, “we'll burn it completely!” 

As long as Miles would remain in this spot, plastered against his back, Alex would happily let him set the whole damn kitchen on fire. He'd let him set his world on fire. Not that he wasn’t already well on his way! Everything but his dinner. Shoulders tensed. “Em…I got nothing else to eat!”

“Trust me,” chuckled Miles, who to Alex’s ever-growing incredulity was very busy flouting platonic distances. “There’s nothing that a bit of vodka can’t fix. We'll flambé the potatoes!” 

Despite being distracted by his friend's physical nearness to the point of madness, Alex hesitated. “You're serious about setting a fire in my pan?”

“I've done it plenty of times before,” Miles assured, trying to put his concerns at rest, yet saying it in a way that carried a vastly different meaning.

Alex snorted. His right hand itched to crawl over Miles', which rested against his front without a fucking care about the mess it produced in his head. He could barely hold himself back from linking their fingers, from guiding them down, from… Another groan.

“Say flambé.” Lips flung into a sassy smile. Alex could feel it against his face. 

“'cause saying it in French makes it sound that much better, right?”

The smile became an airy chuckle. “That's the beauty of the language.” The upper bow of his lip brushed the shell of his ear as a sultry accent coated his words. “Ou pas, Alexandre?”

Eyelids trembled close. Knees turned week. Alex bit his cheek hard. Jesus Fucking Christ! Miles was out to kill him! Swiftly and artfully twirling out of Miles' tightening embrace, he strode to the fridge, removed a bottle of Vodka from it, and took a large swig, relishing the bitter sting in his throat for it jump-started his brain back to life. Done drinking it, he put it next to the pan. “Knock yourself out. But before you do…” He felt the dampness against his own back and recalled where it came from. “You should change, you know? You’re soaking wet from the rain. 'tis gonna get you sick.” That, and if he went to change, Alex stood a chance to gather back his wits.

Miles looked down, inspecting his shirt. “Ooh, good point.” 

He'd scarcely reached for the pepper when next to him, Miles grabbed the hem of his shirt and stripped it off, only to toss it to a nearby chair. 

“Better,” chirped his friend, completely unaware, ostensibly, that Alex was suffering from the heaviest case of arousal ever! A thin film of wetness glazed his skin, making it shimmer in the yellow, artificial light of the kitchen. Licking his lips, strangling the pepper to death, he tore his sight away and busied himself with the fish sticks. He scattered the pepper all over 'em. 

“Alex,” shot Miles, rushing back into his place behind him, this time plastering his naked chest against his willing body, “what are you doing?” Laughter gusted from him. “You really want it hot, don't you?”

Hot, cold, in bed, standing up, naked, clothed, he wanted it any fucking way there was! His head rolled back, falling against Miles' shoulder. “Yes.”

“Since when do you dig spicy food so much?” 

Spicy what? He stared at the fish in front of him. “Fuck!”

More laughter from Miles, whose sneaky arm curved its way around Alex's middle. “What's with you?”

_With me?!_ “Uh—”

Teeth scraped against his earlobe.

Legs buckled.

“Need some relief?”

“Wha'?” Swallowing the 't', which made the little word a throaty drawl, Alex clutched Miles' hand hard. For support! 

“Cooking,” jibed Miles, bloody entertained by it all. “Should I take over cooking? Or, do you need me to do something else?”

_Do me. Please, do me!_

Fuck, it was as though the last years hadn't happened. They were back in 2016, lost in their own world, dancing on a high wire between friendship and more, lust and love. Fingers entwined. Back arched, Alex preened in his embrace, offering access to his neck, daring him with a staggering disregard for fallout to take the bite. He needed to be bitten. To be kissed. To be alive again! When Miles had walked out of his life, parts of Alex had fallen asleep. He could feel them stirring, now. Well-rested and ready for another adventure. But he couldn't embark on it on his own. He needed reassurance. He needed trust. He needed Miles to swear to him that this wasn't a trick his mind was playing on him. “What are you doing?”

“Cookin'.”

“Liar.” To prove it to him, he rolled his hips, set a small flame, a small controlled burn, one that could still be extinguished.

Lips sank against his neck. A kiss. A tiny one. The most intense he'd ever received.

He asked again, “what are you doing?”

“Seducing you,” admitted Miles, kissing his flesh again, more ardent this time. “Am I doing such a bad job that you have to ask?” Humor played in his words. “Shall I try harder?” His hand slid down the lower abdomen of Alex's body, coming to pause on the buckle of his belt. “Have I lost my talent for that? Or did I never possess it?”

“You're too good at it,” panted Alex in return, fully sinking back into his arms. Only to come to a full stop and freeze. Instead of enjoying the ride and giving himself up to it, as old Alex would have done, new Alex had a promise to keep. “You said you're not that guy anymore. And I promised I would never turn you into him again.”

“That guy,” murmured Miles against the shivering surface of Alex's madly aroused body, “was a cheater. But I'm single, and you're single.”

“You know?” 

“I do.” His tongue flicked out for a lick. Alex shuddered. “And ever since I've known, I've been searching my brain for reasons why I should stay away from you.” Another lick. “I've yet to find one.”

“Stop searching then,” pleaded Alex, guiding Miles hand down to raring lands, “lest you find one.” In slow-motion, he turned around. Foreheads touched. Fluttering lashes crossed paths. Closing in, not hesitating, not stopping, Alex brought his thumb up to Miles’ lip, just hovering at first, then grazing the quavering bow. From Miles’ chest, up, traveled the other hand ’til it arrived on his cheek. A single finger flicked out, tracing the indentations and contours of his anxious face. Leaning into the caress, sinking in, Miles gazed into Alex’s piercing eyes and whispered the one thing Alex needed to hear to take the plunge. “Let’s be giants.” With that, Alex tilted his head and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used in this chapter is Dein Ist Mein Ganzes Herz, by Heinz Rudolf Kunze.


	17. Wanna Do it?

**This is it. Last part. Thank you all SOOOOOO much for your support, your lovely words, your kudos, and your interest. ❤️ Hopefully, I'll see you at my next story. 😉**

**#Miles**

**#Paris, Alex’s kitchen**

He was a dried fir, sawed down last year, cut into pieces during the following months, and aged into dark firewood ever since. His bark had come loose, his color had faded, and his fate had been sealed. Or so he’d thought. He’d made peace, to a degree, with the prospect of living the rest of his life in the kind of self-inflicted loneliness as part of a pile of other weathered logs that came by losing the one you let get away. He’d accepted that love was too mighty a force to mess around with. He’d done it once, he’d gotten hurt, he’d learned his lesson. Rather, he’d gotten scared.

He’d ignored the advice of friends to go out and find some new fireplace to smolder in. He’d deliberately disregarded the pointed efforts of the people closest to him to leave his shelter. What for? Venturing out would inevitably turn him into a pile of ash! He’d gain bloody nothing from it. And he hadn’t wanted to, either. There’d been only one thing he’d longed for. The man of his dreams. Yet, in lack of that option, he’d settled for life as a secluded, premium-quality wood-billet in a modern decorated two-bedroom apartment in Hackney, London. Or in hotel rooms, elsewhere.

It had been a fine life.

Quiet and peaceful.

Dull, gloomy, and maybe a bit desolate. But he’d coped. And after more than a year of aging well…or not…, he’d been made a gift. Alex had returned.

The man of his dreams was no longer an elusive memory but a palpable figure, albeit a figure at a small distance. Miles had flickered to life again. Only to plummet from his position on top of the woodpile to the muddy ground when having to concede that life near him was much harder a task than life far from him. Alex was a danger. A never-dying sparkler. A matchstick with infinite capacities. A gold-plated, diamond-encrusted _Zippo_ with an endless fuel supply.

A top-notch sparking plug.

One with performance issues.

Alex had never known when to light up and when to fade out. Here Miles was, ready to ignite, and there Alex was, refusing to torch!

Which was unfortunate, to say it politely. The world was cold and clammy. Deadly weather for wood and plugs. He’d get moldy and Alex would suffer from rust. It wasn’t a good place to be, not on one’s own. Together, they could be magical.

Only, Alex had fallen victim to the same tragic illness that Miles was suffering from.

Fear.

He didn’t want to ache from it. Miles had been able to tell. After all, Alex had travelled all the way from Paris to Cologne for the single purpose of letting him know that he wanted to be brave. Instead, they’d done the opposite. Hiding what both wanted, they’d gone sight-seeing. Kindle and Wood, out in the wild, watching flames and pretending not to see them.

Laughable.

Afterward, Miles had been well on his way to crawling back up the dome of chucked tree stumps, ready to settle in and make do with the miseries that lay ahead in his life of forlornness – yes, he’d been a bit melodramatic – when something inspiring had landed in his hands. From his suitcase, more accurately from the worn shirt that Alex had arrived in Cologne in and which for some reason had ended up in his luggage, had fallen a sheet of paper. Lyrics.

The translation to the piece of music he’d told him about.

He’d read it once, then again, and then again and again and again, and it had made him see it was about damn time something changed. Sometimes, all it took was a song. Or a few lines. A single message: Fucking get off your ass and go get what you want. Happiness is there. You just have to seize it. If the _Zippo_ refused to come to wood, then the wood would have to come to the _Zippo_.

Who’d have known both would run into each other in Paris just one day later! Well, life was fortunate like that on occasion. And because he’d been dry for such a long time and Alex had looked like he’d needed some really good sparking of his own, Miles had decided to take charge, grasp happiness, and jump him.

Words, at some point, became a hindrance.

Every once in awhile, lips had to take up the task of bringing together what was meant to be together all along.

Now, here he was, pressed up against the counter of Alex’s kitchen, licked and kissed and caressed by a mouth full of flames that set him afire everywhere at once. Miles had never felt better. He felt on the cusp of fairytale adventures and finding the end of the rainbow. He was dreaming beneath starry nights and endless skies. Arms roped around another like tempestuous flares of a wild blaze they’d raged into, the cold blood in Miles’ veins began to rise in temperature, and his body surged back to life as a result. Fingers dug in. Clawed in. Everything that surrounded him vanished into nonexistence. Right now, there was only Alex. Alex and his kiss.

Miles yelped, unprepared for that shot of pure pleasure that raked through his body like nails over skin as Alex’s teeth sank into his earlobe. It became a raspy giggle. His lover had found a new toy to play with…his earring.

“You like, eh?” The throatiest of chuckles reverberated against his jaw as Alex’s fingers crawled over Miles’ bare chest, overrunning his body with arousal when his fingernails scraped his nipples with teasing ambition. Alex nipped again. Rolled his tongue over the little silver adornment, then sucking on the lobe.

Fire flashed over Miles’ eyes as everything turned white and hot. A feral “fuck me” gushed out his scorched mouth, unleashing a beast, it appeared, for, after that, hands fisted in articles of clothing and items landed everywhere as they raced towards nudity. As soon as they were bare, Alex swept him up in his arms and carried him off.

“The living room?” laughed Miles, gasping and laughing at his enthusiasm when Alex veritably tossed him onto the couch and straddled him.

“It’s been two and a half years,” croaked Alex into the ferocious kiss, wet and filthy and hungry that it was. “Not gonna make it to the fucking bedroom!”

Miles was off to heaven. It was this, exactly this, the joy in the midst of great emotions, the delicate touches in the throws of ardent desire, the fondness and brilliant affection inside Alex’s pitch-black eyes that he’d had missed so dearly. So absolutely. 

And even though he hungered, even starved for him, what followed wasn’t the wild ride he’d half-expected. It was a slow waltz underneath a bright, lit sky, a far cry from the frantic acts of days gone by. It was intimate and intense; they were holding each other’s eyes, clasping each other’s hands. It was, in a way, the long way home. They knew the direction, the route, but the road there was paved with different stones, each stretch weathered by storm and ice and littered with the sharp debris of mistakes made. Steps were placed with mindfulness. As if testing the surface before setting their foot, lips feathered over skin, tasting the result before gifting more and more. And more.

“More…” pleaded Miles out of breath, legs wantonly wide, stretched out on the sofa of the living room, adapting as Alex pushed in. “Aaah…mmh…not fragile. You know that.”

“Not fragile,” purred Alex into his ear, from behind, nipping on his lobe once more, drawing a simper from him when his teeth frisked with the creole. “Sensitive.” He plunged deeper. Miles moaned in bliss. At the feeling of fingertips trailing down his spine, a shudder roved over him. “Very sensitive,” Alex noted, smiling. “I still remember. I remember everything. Every detail, every spot you love having touched. Your body speaks its own language, and I understand it perfectly.” The murmured words were an enticement on their own. The gentle pouring of warm water over a freezing body. “Every stretch you die to have kissed, I love kissing.” The tongue traced the line of his jawbone. “Every curve and every plane you want venerated, I love worshipping.” 

“You,” Miles wailed, strangled and hoarse, voice roughened from pleasure so deep and intricately tied to Alex that he’d for too long believed he’d never get to luxuriate in again. What made this act with Alex stand apart from being with others was more than knowing the end result always entailed a bone-melting finale. It was the passage there. The feeling of being inside somebody’s arms, somebody who knew all the awful things about you, knew all your insecurities, your flaws, and your fears, somebody who loved you not despite but because of it. “I need to be kissed by _you_. I need to be touched by _you_. I need to be loved by _you_.”

Alex pulled out and Miles spun around, immediately pulling him back between his thighs, but also into his arms which anchored him. “Miles…”

“Love me. ’tis all I want, all I need to be happy.”

“Mi…” Cupping his face, Alex captured his lips and kissed him hard. “Mi…” He thrust back in. “Babeee…”

  
  


Half an hour and one long and marvelous trip through clouds and stars and exploding fireworks later, Alex wore a wide and wicked grin as the tip of his finger chased the outlines of Miles’ tattoo. Satisfied eyes flickered back and forth between the ink and Miles’ transfixed expression. “You should shave down here. That would award it more space to shine.”

Laughter bubbled from Miles, the happy, carefree kind that he hadn’t laughed in a very long while. Fingers twined through the strands of Alex’s hair as lips curled into a lazy and deeply pleased smile. He was on cloud nine, yes. Nonetheless, he acutely aware he reveled in a dreamlike moment, one he worried would not stand the test of time, least of all if they didn’t talk about it. And as much as he’d like to pretend that all was fine, if only for a little bit longer, he couldn’t. The uncertainty of it all chipped away at his tranquility. Brushing the crown of his thumb over Alex’s temple with affection, he quietly wondered what he wished he wouldn’t need to hear him speak out loud to know. But the past had left scars. “Have we just made a mistake?”

Fingers splayed out as Alex sent his hand off to cross Miles’ stomach. “We’ve done what we never should have stopped doing in the first place.” Lips traced the trail. His tongue dipped into his belly button, making Miles gasp and Alex smirk with glee. “You and I aren’t like the rest of the world. What we have, it’s deeper and different from anything else. We don’t prosper apart from one another. Why didn’t you tell me that you knew about my breakup?”

“Me?” He bracketed Alex’s face with both hands, tipping it up to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you?”

“In my heart, I imagined you’d kiss me once you found out.” Alex’s lids lowered. “In my head, I was scared you wouldn’t. I was afraid history would repeat itself.”

He rolled them over and he kissed him. Deeply. Thoroughly. When he’d heard that Alex was single again, he’d argued with himself, he’d fooled himself into thinking he was content with the way things were. But now? Here, inside Alex’s arms, Miles was forced to concede to a truth which had become impossible to ignore for some time now, which was that he’d been an idiot. Who would settle for contentment when happiness was an option? Pride and false thinking had kept them apart two and a half years ago. He wouldn’t allow that to happen this time. “I love you. I’ve told you so often.”

“And I’ve given you so many reasons not to.”

“You’ve never given me one that stopped me. I doubt you can,” Miles asserted, casting the words out into the limited space between scarcely parted mouths. Mouths that quickly rejoined. 

“Careful.” Alex let up as sadness befell his face. “I tend to prove people wrong.” 

“Not this time,” disagreed Miles. “If you’re so scared, how come you kissed me back?”

Two tiny dimples arrived on Alex’s cheeks. “Because you’re my Miles. I will always kiss you back. And I couldn’t last another second outside your arms.” No longer smiling but hefting a look so grave and earnest it unsettled Miles, Alex leaned up and blurted, “I’m sorry for what I said to you on the phone. That you flirted around… I’ve asked you for time ‘til I could explain it. Turns out I never needed it. In the end, I only needed guts.”

Miles steeled himself for his answer while asking, “do you think I did that? ‘cause…” He buried his face in the curve of Alex’s shoulder, giving himself no chance to read or misread what emotion Alex might display. “I tried to get over you. Tried to distract myself from you and—”

“And I was angry because of it,” acknowledged Alex at last. Miles felt his arms circling closer around his body to counter the divisive words. “I was bloody furious. Since the moment you kissed me in Los Angeles, I waited for you to hijack me. To abduct me and steal me away from my fears. You wanted me to be courageous and risk my entire heart at a time when I couldn’t do it. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to be with you, Mi. It’s all I ever wanted. To be yours. The other day, when you told me that you’re gay, it scared me. I saw a box. And no space for me. Jamie called me _sorta bi_ and you said we were pastries and jam. That’s, I’d guess, about as far removed from an impeccable little sexual orientation box as one can be. When I was with Louise, as awful as it sounds, I didn’t _not_ like it, like, she’s a woman and…I couldn’t call myself _gay-Alex_. And yet, you and I spent the day together and…” He shrugged with half a little laugh. “I was so turned on by the way your shirt clung to you. And I almost kissed you at the airport. I’m no longer _straight-Alex_ , either. I boarded my flight back to Paris and I spent the next ninety minutes trying to build a box for me, lining up attributes to decorate the walls with. And then I remembered that song you tried to translate and which I did,” he admitted. “It has this one line, _We just want to come home_. I thought about home and what it meant to me and turns out my home are about four weeks in August in the year 2016, when there were no boxes, no _boyfriend-Alex_ , no _friend-Alex_ , no confident, or any other hyphenated Alex. For those four weeks, I was _just_ Alex. I was happy. And I was with you. I kissed you back because I want to come home, Miles. I love you.”

Miles raised his head, gulped down the heavy lump in his throat, and hoped that Alex didn’t mind that he’d shed a tear or two against his shoulder, ‘cause nobody had ever said a more beautiful thing to him in his life. “ _Just_ Alex is the only one that matters and the only one I want. I love you, too!”

“We’ll figure it out as you said. I swear that we will! I will devote my life to it if I have to. I want to be with you. I’m done being scared, I’m done cleaning house, I’m done with the boxes and hyphens and fucking girlfriends. I don’t care if people call me straight or gay or anything in between, as long as they know I’m yours!”

“God,” breathed Miles, wiping a third wayward tear from his eyes that steadfastly refused to dry, embarrassed and blushing about his sappy state. A part of him had expected he’d become a pile of ash after a night with Alex. Charred remains of a large wildfire, one which had burned beautifully, yet devastatingly. And maybe some pieces of him had become that. Leftover. No longer needed. Parts of him he’d never appreciated to begin with. His frights. His worries. The parts that had for too long held him back. The rest of him, though? That reassembled and formed a new Miles. A braver, happy, madly in love Miles. Capturing Alex’s lips with throbbing urgency, not the desiring kind, but the ‘I need you to know that I love you’ kind, he kissed him ‘til his lungs hurt and his head turned dizzy. “You’re fucking good at this, you know? You should make a living declaring your love for me.”

That got Alex to laugh. “Baby, just wait for the next album!”   
  


*

**#Matt**

**#Los Angeles**

**#Three Days Later**   
  


Unbelievable. The stupid, little rock star had invited him over for beers and burgers and what did Alex _not_ have in his fucking fridge? Beers and burgers. It was the same thing, each and every time! Honestly, he shouldn’t even be surprised anymore. But he was. And hungry! Matt slammed the fridge door shut, marched over to the patio doors and—

“’m wearing a grey cotton tee,” giggled Alex into the phone. “The one you nearly tore apart before I left! Stop asking me ‘bout my clothes! Told you I can only do this when I’m drunk, else I start laughing!”

Matt’s eyebrows shot into a furrow. He leaned further but hid behind the curtain, trying to remain out of sight as he eavesdropped. _Cotton? What the fuck?_

More laughter. The weird kind. “I only cracked up ‘cause said you wanted me to…” Alex looked over his shoulder as if checking for him as if he’d sensed him somehow.

Matt dove fully behind the fabric.

Alex lowered his voice a notch. “You know exactly what you asked me to do, baby! ‘twas a very r-rated thing! … I don’t care that I did it in front of you or that it was my idea. I can’t do it on the phone, alone in my bedroom. Feels weird.”

Jaw dropped, Matt gaped at the hunching, whispering form of his bandmate. Was Alex having phone sex?! With whom? He jerked forward, then, clutching the curtains in panic. Oh God! Oh no! _Oh, for fuck’s sake!_ The asshole had gotten himself a new model to play around with, had he not? _Of course!_ That also explained Alex’s sudden chipper mood. Matt should have seen it coming. Alex hated being alone. Naturally, he’d find somebody leggy enough to distract him from his love for Miles.

_Damned fool!_

Outside, more tittering took place. “Naughty,” admonished Alex, drawing on more of Matt’s curiosity with ease. “Here’s what I’d do if I were home right now. I’d pull down those jeans, drop to my knees, and color in that guitar you got there using my tongue. Would that drive you wild?”

_Guitar?_

Was that a euphemism for something? Geez, his singer required urgent help with the phone sex thing! Somebody ought to teach him how to dirty talk properly! He’d have to call Nick, tell him to tackle that one.

Matt shook his head with a sigh, once more baffled by the unfolding scene by the pool. _Unbelievable!_

“Not gonna do that,” hissed Alex into the phone, responding to something his new model must have said. “I can hear myself, you know? I sound like bloody Scatman John when I do it! … Will you stop making fun of my blanket? It’s not stupid! So what if it’s weighted? The tv commercial called it a very helpful thing for people who don’t like sleeping alone! … Well, it’s sweet that you offer yourself to be my own, unique weighted blanket. But you only recently arrived, did you not? I got it before you showed up and, you know, flambéed me.” At the last part, Alex’s eyes became distant and tinted with the same sultry shade that settled over the rest of his face. His index finger rested between his teeth while smirking, “Wanna do me a favor? Take a picture of it and send it to me. My little pastry…”

_What the fucking hell does he do after dark?_ Matt turned away and shuddered. Some shit he did not want to know, and the twisted sex practices of his frontman ranked very high on that list!

Scurrying back into the kitchen, he flipped through the contact list of his phone and spotted the name he looked for.

_Cookie Monster_

He hit dial.

A loud and lethargic moan droned through the phone for an extended moment of time and it ate away at Matt’s patience. “What’s with you fuckers calling me in the middle of the fucking night,” rumbled Jamie. “Don’t you guys know to read a fucking clock?”

Matt glanced at the clock with rolling eyes. “It’s five in the afternoon. What’s your damn problem?”

“It’s five in LA,” snarled Jamie. “Oh, fucking whatever. What do you want? I swear if you called to play me some shit on the drums again, don’t bother. Almost got tinnitus last time you did. Damn bass drum—”

“You done?” bit Matt. “If you want to bitch some more ‘cause your wife is out of town and you’re sexually frustrated, do it after I told you what have to say. I’ll leave the phone on the counter and you can vent to the kitchen. Right now, I have to bitch. And I called you so I go first!”

“Jesus,” Jamie groaned back, “what’s with you?”

“We got a problem, my friend! A big one!”

“ _We_? I don’t.”

“Humor,” Matt informed him dryly as he once more peered into the fridge, only to _once more_ get his hungry heart broken, “does not suit everyone.” Next, he opened the cupboard one after another. “Buckle up. Alex got a new bird.”

“Bird,” repeated Jamie, failing to catch on. “Like a budgie or—”

“No,” snapped Matt hotly, tossing an empty carton of sprinkles into the trashcan. _Damnit, did this guy not eat at all?_ “Like a two-legged, female, chirpy kind.”

“No!” gasped Jamie.

“Yes!”

The guitarist exhaled deeply, with plenty of sorrow. “How do you know?”

Matt cringed at the memory. “Just overheard him having the worst and sickest phone sex in the history of ever. Whispering like some lovesick fool ‘bout licking guitars and sounding like…never mind.”

“Blech.”

“My thoughts exactly!”

“What’s the plan, then? I mean, we tried everything to get ‘em to be together. We dispatched Nick! What’s more that we can do?”

Giving up on his quest for edibles, Matt retired against the counter. “This might take a group effort. Listen, we’re stuck in LA for a few more days. Wedding’s gonna be this weekend. Won’t be able to leave ‘til Monday. Tuesday,” he quickly corrected. “It’s a wedding. We’ll drink a lot. Airlines have this thing ‘bout drunks on planes. Never mind. Where’s Miles gonna be next week?”

“Ibiza, I think. Nick said something like that.”

“We’ll meet there, then.”

“Whoa, slow down. What do you mean _we_? ‘cause my wife’s gonna be home next week. I’m not leaving!”

“Cookie, a love-story is on the line! You can do without sex for a few more days!”

“No,” declared Jamie. “I can’t.”

“Bring her, then. We have to sell this shit to Alex.”

“What shit? What the fuck is your big plan?”

“Gonna tell Alex that we’re all meetin’ up in Ibiza ‘cause it’s the ideal opportunity to discuss the new album. The one that Shakespeare keeps telling us about? That ‘spiraling drama about two hearts torn asunder, each traveling the universe alone in a spaceship and in different directions?’” Matt twisted his tongue to mock Alex’s drawl. “Honestly,” he ruminated, voice taking on an inquisitive tilt, “the last one was a moon base, this one’s apparently a trip across space, some voyager thing or whatever. What’s the next gonna be? Like, at some point he’s gonna run out of the universe. It isn’t endless.” He blinked. “I mean, it is.” Eyes squinted. “Ugh…you know what I mean.”

“No,” yawned Jamie, “I honestly don’t. I don’t care, either. Let him write his shit. He can philosophize as much as he wants as long as doesn’t explain it to me. Still got headaches from the last one. Fucking _Ultracheese_ ,” he groveled. “Fine. Ibiza, then. You seriously believe he’s just gonna hop on a plane with you and fly off to some sunny island? If he really has a new bird waiting for him, won’t he want to get back to her?”

Matt shrugged casually, seeing no greater problem. “Band over birds. He’ll do it.”

“What ‘bout Miles? Won’t they get suspicious? Guess they’re talking on the phone a lot, from what Nick mentioned. They probably know each other’s travel plans, don’t you think? If we tell Alex to drop everything and fly across the globe for some crazy reason and just happen to go where Miles is, you really don’t think he’s gonna figure it out?”

“Figure what out? That we all want to hang out and enjoy some sun while discussing music? You think he’ll find that strange?”

“Yes.”

“Zack!”

“Huh?”

“Zack will be there!”

“Again,” snarked Jamie. “HUH?!”

“Try to keep up, Jamie. _Try_. Nick said Zack’s hellbent on hooking Miles up with some surfer.”

“I’m _trying_ to keep up! I’m really _trying_!”

“We’ll rent out some huge house, say Zack did it. Scrap the album. We’ll say he invited us all to some giant days-long party. He’s always throwing a party. It’d be weirder if he didn’t throw one. That way, Alex has no reason to be suspicious.”

“And if he wants to bring his bird?”

“We’ll say there’s no room for her.”

Jamie snorted. “Not to burst your innocent little bubble there, but he’ll make room for her _in his bed_.”

_Jesus Christ_ , mused Matt. _Do I have to come up with ALL the solutions?_ “We’ll say he needs to share a room with one of us. With you.”

“Bringing Katie.”

“With Nick, then.”

“Why not Miles?”

“Oh, better!” Finally some helpful participation. “Perfect. We’ll make sure they have to room together. We’ll lock ‘em up and toss the key. That way they must make up. Ha, it’ll be just like it was on tour. They share a room, a bed, they fuck, happy ending.”

“Wow,” drawled Jamie with sarcasm, faking great awe. “You figured out the key to love, eh?”

“Bite me.”

“I’d rather to return to sleep.”

“At five pm?” What was wrong with him?!

“Get to the fucking point, Helders!”

“I’ll call Zack. Set everything up. I’ll have him bring the surfer. Nothing gets Alex going like some good ole’ competition!”

“What surfer?”

“The one I mentioned— I thought you talked to Nick?!”

“I did!”

“Well, do it again. Clearly you missed some. Go back to your nap, grandpa. I’ll text you the details. Leave it all to me.” _Who else was there, anyway?_ “Night.” He hung up. Then linked his hands and cracked his knuckles. “Leave it all to the grand wizard of love—”

“The what now?”

Matt jumped forward. “Fucking shit, Al! Wear a bell ‘round your neck, will ya?! Scared the shit outta me!”

Loud laughter from Alex. “The grand wizard of love?” It turned taunting. “Came up with that by yourself?”

Tilting his nose up, Matt squared his shoulders and sneered, “So? Scatman John…”

Alex blushed blood red. Gone was the amusement. His words were cold and clipped, now. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” warned Matt, by that reminding him what happened if they continued. “You?”

A raised brow met Matt’s arched one, before falling back into its regular shape. Message received. “Nothing.”

“Good.” Both holstered their pistols. “Gonna go and buy burgers now,” announced Matt. “And beer.” He needed plenty of that. “Anything else we need?”

“Salad?”

A beat. Then both burst into laughter. “Good one!”  
  


*

**#Nick**

**#Ibiza**

**#A Week Later**

Nick brought his weight down to his arms as he leaned onto the counter, his head propped into his hands. A heavy sigh fell from his lips as he watched with much sadness how his drummer and his guitarist were bickering like two churlish kids. “Must you always fight?” They were two toddlers, always ruffling each other’s feathers by poking and kicking and all around being very immature.

Jamie snapped his eyes Nick’s way, warning him to stay out of this one. “Not fighting. Having a simple, fact-based discussion.”

“Calling me a cock-block is a tiny bit insulting, don’t you think?” Matt leaned with his hip against the nearest surface – in this case, the sofa next to him – and raised his brows at Jamie, daring him to challenge that assessment.

Holding onto Katie’s hands and gritting his teeth, Jamie pushed back, “Not if the shoe fits! Why are Katie and I sharing a room with you?”

“Because,” explained Matt once again, with far less restraint, “this house has four bedrooms.” He felt like a teacher, lecturing first-graders in basic math. “One for the surfer, one for Nick and Zack, one for Katie, you, and me, and one for Miles and Alex. We got the master. It’s got a big bed.” Throwing in a peace offering, Matt let him know, “I don’t need much space.”

“I got that part.” Ticking his jaw, Jamie inched in on Matt. “Why, for fuck’s sake, does the surfer get his own room? Share _his_.”

Matt recoiled. “I don’t know him yet. What if he’s into pop music?”

“Matthew,” warned Jamie, “listen closely. I will have sex with my wife tonight. It’s been over three weeks. And at this point, I really don’t care if you’re there or not. Do you?”

“You’re seriously making me bunk with the surfer?” Matt huffed. “Some friend you are.”

“Friend? I just flew across the fucking continent for some insane, ridiculous plan to set up—”

“Shut the fuck up, Cookie!” Snarling with a low voice, Matt reminded him that, “Al naps next door. You want him to figure it all out? He’ll bolt before Miles even gets here! We got lucky enough that he agreed to share his room with him in the first place.”

Katie pressed Jamie’s arm against her front, something that seemed to relax him. “When are Miles and Zack gettin’ here?” she asked calmly, always the reasonable and grown-up one.

“Soon,” Nick announced, glad to chat with a sane person. “Zack texted. They’re done with the shoot and packing up.” As he said it, somebody knocked. “Look at that, they are here already.” 

“I’ll go,” said Katie, headed for the door, and pulled it open wide. Thanks to the open design of the house, everyone could see that it was not Miles nor Zack who’d arrived. Quirking a brow, drawing one corner of a slow smile up, Katie extended her hand. “Enchanted!”

The blond, bun–wearing man spoke with a heavy Southern American accent and a quick grin as he highlighted, “You don’t know me yet.”

Katie waved a hand. “No need to, I got eyes. I’m Katie.”

“Carlos.”

“Jamie,” interjected Jamie, wrapping his arm around his wife. “She’s married.”

“And he’s gay,” tossed Katie back, rolling her eyes at her husband. The rest of the bunch erupted in laughter. 

“Bi,” Carlos noted. Eyes twinkled.

The second arm curved around her. Jamie pecked his wife’s cheek. “Again, married.”

“Nice surfboard,” called Nick from the kitchen. “I’ve been meaning to get into it. Any chance I could borrow it?”

“Jeez, Nick,” exclaimed Matt from the couch. “Let the man get in first. Hey, I’m Matt. Only normal one here.”

“I beg to differ,” volleyed Alex from the door to this room. “No one’s normal in this house. All lunatics. I’m Alex, the hostage.”

Matt growled. “I told you to leave if you want!”

“No, Matt, you told me to go _to my room_ if I want. There’s a difference. I went to my room. Done with that. Can I leave, now? ‘cause Miles still isn’t here, neither is Zack. And I’m feelin’ a little weird about the fact that somebody placed a fucking fruit bowl full of condoms and lube on my nightstand. Wanna explain that? Is this a sex party? Are you trying to set me up with somebody? If that’s the case, I’ll have you know I’m not single. I’m—”

“You admit it, then?!” Jumping up, Matt pointed an accusing finger at him. “That you’re shagging a model? How could you? I can’t believe you’d do that to him. I’m disappointed, Alex. Gravely disappointed.”

“Not just that,” chimed Nick in, feeling similar about Alex’s confession. “I came to you and you told me that there’s _something_ between you and Miles. The fact that you’d go and betray him like that? That’s awful, Alex. Awful!”

Eyebrows arched high, Alex’s eyes shot from Nick to Matt and back. “What the fuck is wrong with you people? What are you talking about? And what’s that about shagging a model? Who’s shagging a model?”

From the door, one arm around Katie, one hand inside his pocket, Jamie’s expression got pointed. “Al, come on. It’s bad, don’t you agree? Like, you couldn’t bother telling Miles that you’re single, and now this? You’re in dire need of help! You’re dating a pair of long legs to distract yourself from the one you really want!”

“You’re doing what now?” wondered Miles coyly, coming up behind Katie, Jamie, and Carlos. “To distract yourself from me?”

“BABEEE!” squealed Alex with a beaming smile as he sprinted over, jumped into his wide-stretched arms, and kissed him.

Both hands on Alex’s ass, Miles hoisted him up and had him flat against the doorframe, only to lean in and turn that kiss into something definitely not fit for the eyes of any minors. Moans and pants filled the eerily quiet house as everyone watched in shock.

Jamie whipped his head to Matt, as did Nick and Katie. “Explain! Now!”

The drummer watched the couple in the entrance with bulging eyes. After a minute of taking everything in, he turned away and scratched his head. “Eh…maybe I misunderstood?”

Katie chuckled. “No _maybe_ about it. Guess this was all for nothing then?” Her hand grabbed Jamie’s. “Let’s go to our room. I need my own kiss!”

“Finally,” exclaimed Jamie and followed his wife.

Back in the kitchen, Nick let out yet another thick sigh. “All for naught. So disappointing.”

Matt tossed him a glare. “They’re happy, aren’t they?”

Nick rolled his shoulders, unsure how to feel about it all. He had looked forward to witnessing that great reunion. “It’s like watching a love story and missing the middle part.”

“You can watch the porn part if you want. Those two ain’t stopping anytime soon! I’m out. See you later.”

Next to Miles and Alex who were still lost in their own world of kisses and gropes, the surfer cleared his throat. “Wanna learn how to surf? I could teach you.”

Nick jumped upright. “Perfect.” Grabbing his duffle from the corner, he took the whole thing with him. “Changin’ at the beach. Time we get out.” His head nodded at the couple in the doorway. “’tis getting foggy in here.”

Carlos laughed as he followed Nick out.

*

**#Miles**

**#Later that Night**

It was nearly midnight. The sun had long set, everyone was buzzed, and between more sedate chatter and listening to the vague sounds of a radio running in the background, Miles snuggled deeper into Alex’s arms as they shared a cozy lounger. His fingertip dabbed at Alex’s chin, gently directing his gaze toward the two men on the other side of the pool, lost in conversation. “How,” asked Miles, half-whisper and half-chuckle, “does Nick not get that Carlos is flirting with him? Like he’s really blunt ‘bout it. He’s been touching Nick’s arm all night, leaning in to tell him stuff. All that.”

“I know,” agreed Alex, just as amazed. “Nick’s totally blind to it.”

From next to them, a snort broke out. Jamie scoffed. And inside his arms, on their lounger, giggled Katie. “Look who’s talking!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” probed Alex.

“Uh, the obvious,” Katie quipped. “You two were flirting for ten years and didn’t notice. You were _kissing_ and didn’t notice!”

“Believe me, when we kissed, I _did_ notice,” Miles stated. “He’s a really good kisser.” To reward him for it, he promptly brought his lips to Alex’s and extended a treat. “Mmmhh…a very good kisser.”

Curling her arms further around Jamie, Katie disagreed. “I was at some of your shows. The shit you two did? I mean you gave interviews and called each other brothers! Even before you went at it for real, you did things I’d never do with a sibling!”

Alex raised a brow. “Name one thing!”

Challenge accepted, Katie did. “Eye-fucking.”

“What’s that?”

Next to Alex, Miles snickered. “You don’t know?”

He shook his head.

“Lemme demonstrate.” Grinning from ear to ear, he gazed deeply into his eyes, licked his lips suggestively, and waited.

As expected, Alex fell into his trap. Not breaking contact, he simply stared, lost and deep in thought – or in lust, judging by the liquid darkness that pooled in his brown orbs, or that hardening bulge Miles felt against his stomach.

“This,” hushed Miles, breaking the spell just a little by rubbing their noses together, “is eye-fucking.”

“Ah, it’s got a fancy name, then.” Alex dove for a chaste peck. “Suppose I did that, or we did that before we did other things.”

“Did you ever think about me before we kissed?” Miles raised his head to watch his face with burning intrigue. “Like in that way?”

“In a sexy way?” Alex threw him a smile as thought about it. “Abstractly, I’d say.”

“How very Turner’ish.”

Alex pinched his ass. “Didn’t dream ‘bout you doing me or somethin’. But you were always on my mind,” he divulged. “I remember staring at your lips at one point and it got me curious, thinking what would it be like to kiss you.” His thumb trailed down Miles’ cheek. “How your mouth would taste. What it’d feel like to run my tongue against yours. If your lips were soft or firm. If you took control or would allow me to do so. ’twas all in my head, the entire kiss. Wrapped and covered in questions. I was jealous of Hannah ‘cause she could straight up tell you she wanted to spend time with you and you’d go and be with her.”

Miles sat up, now. “You could have told me.”

“What friend does that?”

“I did it all the time. Always tellin’ ya how much I missed ya!”

“I loved that. You were always better at saying what’s on your mind. You just start talking. I try to think of a good way to express myself and never get a word out. Or I talk and talk and never find my point.”

Miles lowered his lashes. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Alex nodded softly.

“Back on tour, when we’d sing _Standing Next To Me_ , sometimes, I’d lean in just to see if you’d lean back. You never did. So I got bolder. I’d wrap an arm around you, or press against you, and you still didn’t stop me. And I remember wondering how far you’d let me go before the tour was over.”

“All the way,” spoke Alex between sparsely separated lips, little louder than an exhale. “My head might not have known that I longed for you. But my heart knew. I was yours. Always have been.”

“And I’m yours,” breathed Miles as he neared for one more kiss.

“Technically,” chimed Jamie from the side with a casual voice that cut right through the tender moment Miles and Alex shared, “you owe us a fat ‘thank you’. If it weren’t for us, you’d have never gotten together.”

Momentarily and demonstratively ignoring that interruption, Miles placed his palm against Alex’s cheek and smiled. “We need to take a private vacation, you and I. Alone.”

“Definitely,” laughed Alex and nodded in agreement.

Miles’ eyes swept Jamie’s way. “Why’s that?”

“Well, we know now that you first hooked up after the Alley Palley show. After Alex overheard us making fun of you two lovebirds. If that hadn’t happened…”

“I’d have kissed you eventually,” promised Alex, looking directly at Miles. “It was a matter of time before it happened. No ‘if’ about it.”

Nodding, Miles said, “It was destined to happen.”

“Like star-crossed lovers,” Alex added.

“Traveling across time and space, searching for another,” continued Miles, wearing a beam.

“Detoured by miscommunication.”

“Hindered by our own insecurities.”

“Only to reconnect in the end.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “ _AM7_ in a nutshell.”

“Well,” Miles shot, shifting to meet Alex’s eyes more freely, “not the end. That’s still lightyears away from us. There’s a bunch of other stuff that needs to happen first.”

Alex frowned. “Like what?”

“The usual. Movin’ in together. Gettin’ married. Growin’ old. Changin’ the world one album at a time.”

“I like your priorities. Movin’ in, eh? Where you wanna live?”

A shrug. “I don’t think you and I will be staying at just one place, like, ever.”

“Good thing we got so many, right?”

Miles grinned. “I do like Paris.”

“And London.”

“So we’ll jump between those cities, I suppose.”

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“Getting married?” poked Katie, wearing a delighted smile.

“One of us,” said Alex matter-of-factly, as if discussing a set of new tires, a logistical issue, “will need to propose first. Who is it going to be, you or I?”

“We’ll draw straws,” said Miles nonchalantly, far from being truly invested in the issue. He had his Alex and he’d keep his Alex, just like his Alex would keep him. The rest was decoration.

Alex nodded casually. “Good idea.”

“Ugh, how romantic,” mocked Katie.

Undeterred, Miles smiled. “So?”

“We’re us,” supplied Alex readily. “Doing stuff our way.”

Loud giggles from across the pool cut into their conversation.

Alex groaned as his head fell to the side, to meet Jamie’s worried glance. “Who’s gonna tell Nick?”

“Tell Nick what?” piped Matt from behind them. “Went to the beach with Zack and some others. What did I miss?” He threw a quick inspecting look across the water. “Yo, Nick. Stop flirtin’ with the surfer. Or don’t, but use protection.”

“Fuck, Helders,” chided Jamie.

“Yeah, Matt,” Alex joined in. “The hell was that?”

“Nick’s happily married,” Katie noted.

“And not aware that he’s being flirted at,” Miles pointed out.

“Exactly,” supported Alex. “What do you think will happen now? Nick’s gonna be so embarrassed at being called out like that!”

Jamie scoffed at him. “You can’t just blurt something out like that! You have to choose your words carefully.”

Katie glowered at Matt. “Poor guy!”

“Bunch of…” Matt shook his head as he exhaled deeply. “Look at ‘em! They’re fucking laughing ‘bout it! Nick and Carlos are laughing about _you_! What’s got you all freaked out? For crying out loud. Your lives would be much easier if you stopped thinking shit over. Trust me.”

“In that case,” announced Miles, taking Matt’s advice to heart. “Let’s not think anymore and just do it.” He hopped off the lounger and extended his hand for Alex. “Wanna do it?” Brows wiggled.

Alex laughed. “With you? Always.”


End file.
